Eyes Wider Than Before
by Livia55555G
Summary: A future for Gio/Betty/Daniel&many UB characters; diverges from events after S2. BxD explored but then Gio returns; includes flashbacks to Getty events not seen on TV UB. More to come. Story&chapter titles based on YouTube Getty video songs
1. Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Chapter 1

~ Sitting, Waiting, Wishing ~

Daniel Meade Jr. shuffled into Betty's office, his beautiful eyes downcast beneath luxuriant lashes. Betty's heart sank. She didn't know why Danny, as he was now called, turned to her whenever he found himself in a jam he was ashamed to reveal to his father. If anything, she was sterner with him than Daniel would be, less likely to let his transgressions slide, more apt to lecture.

"OK, Danny, spill it. What have you done?"

"I've been kicked out of school for practically nothing." At sixteen, he now spoke fluent English, but retained traces of his native French accent—a slight difficulty producing a "th" sound and an "r" a bit more guttural than the English version.

"And just what triggered this travesty of justice?"

"I skipped a few classes is all."

"What's that mean? Three classes? Four? What's a few?"

"It was all my geometry and Spanish classes—but just since the beginning of the Fall quarter. I really don't need to know math anyway, if I'm going to be a ballplayer. And I already speak French and English. Why do I need a third language?"

"Since the beginning of the quarter—that means you've missed two whole courses for more than two months!" sputtered Betty. "Why hasn't the school notified your father before now?"

Danny shot her a sly smile from under those lashes. "They kind of had the impression I was getting out to have daily therapy for that elbow injury from last summer. They thought that Dad was having me tutored privately to make up the schoolwork. I kind of gave them letters from Dad and my doctor that said that."

"Letters _you_ wrote, you mean. Not cute! You and I both know that elbow was nothing. The minor surgery you had on it was fully mended before school began. So, just what were you really doing all that time?"

"There's this girl . . ."

Ah, with Danny there was always a girl. He had inherited more than his good looks from his father. "You mean Kelly?" Betty named a classmate who was constantly text messaging him. "Or Becca?" His roller-blading date the previous Saturday.

"No, her name's Serena. She had two free periods during the last two hours of school, so we'd sneak out. Mostly we'd go to the movies or go to her house and make out and, and stuff . . ."

"Oh, and _stuff_—right." Betty knew what that meant. "You're sixteen! You shouldn't be doing _stuff_ at all! I hope you were at least using protection?"

"Of course. Do you think I'm a moron?" huffed Danny, looking genuinely offended.

"A moron? Well, let's see, St. Lucius is the fourth prestigious private school in four years to show you the door. You're skulking in here because you don't want to face Daniel. Meanwhile, you're letting your education go to ruin, because you think you're going to be a big pro baseball star and won't need it, but you're too lazy to follow coach's orders and practice your batting or visit the gym. Not to mention you've been sleeping with an underage girl under her parents' own roof. Oh, you're quite the misunderstood genius, you are. I'm disappointed in you, Danny, and your father will be, too."

Danny's bravado faded and his shoulders slumped. "Will you tell him for me?"

"No, you'll have to tell him. But if you want, I'll be there when you do. By the way, how'd you get caught?"

"Yesterday we decided to go to a bar. We had these fake ID cards . . . "

"Sweetie, your angelic face couldn't pass for over 21 if you grew a full bushy beard – even a gray one."

"_Now_ you tell me. Anyway, we fooled the waitress enough to let us place an order. It's not like it was the hard stuff, just beer. . . . "

". . . oh, barely alcohol at all . . . " Betty injected sarcastically.

" . . . but the next thing we knew, these cops showed up and called the truant officer and then they ended up taking us back to St. Lucius."

"Ms. Suarez?" A teenage pixie in braces named Annette, Betty's after-school intern, slid tentatively into the room. "I have that dummy issue ready for you." She clutched a file folder in hands splattered with ink, dabs of which had escaped to her face.

"Wow," said Danny, addressing the moppet. "Must be tough to have a job that leaves you such a mess." Annette looked crestfallen. For some time, Betty had observed with affectionate exasperation that her helper had a crush on the boy. All the little female interns did.

Ambling over to Annette, the adolescent Meade sniffed playfully at her hair and added, "You _are_ a mess. Lucky for you you smell so sweet." Betty doubted that Danny had ever dipped into the collected works of Phil Roth, yet it wasn't the first time she'd seen him work a nova on a girl. Seductive talents came effortlessly to the Meade men. It was in their genes. As the intern brightened; Danny winked at his victim and sidled toward the door.

"Just one moment, mister," barked Betty. "Be back here at 5 p.m. sharp! We have to talk to your father _tonight_."

His mouth opened and Betty waited for the inevitable protest, which wasn't long in coming: "You sound like you think you're my mother." But she was unprepared to hear him blurt a moment later, "Well, guess what? I wish you were!" as he made a fast exit.

Framed by almost boy-short brown hair, Annette's brow furrowed. "I'm so sorry I mentioned the dummy issue in front of Danny, Ms. Suarez. I forgot the project was hush-hush."

"Don't worry about it. Danny couldn't care less about the workings of the publishing empire he's supposed to inherit someday. I'm sure it went completely over his head." Betty sighed. "But you're right, I do want to keep this under wraps until I have something impressive to show Daniel."

"I think this may be close to ready. Want to take a look?"

"Yes, but I don't want any interruptions. This office is like Grand Central Station. Let's find someplace a little more private to talk, shall we?"

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Frowning, Annette surveyed the outlandish furnishings of Fay Sommer's hideaway. What the heck was that bed doing here? "This conference room is really . . . different," she muttered as Betty locked the door.

"Conferencing?" Betty looked amused. "I guess that's one word for what this place was set up for. Now let's see what you've done."

Flipping open the file folder, the intern handed her boss what appeared to be a magazine with the word _Cuisine_ splashed gaily across the cover. Only an industry insider could have spotted it as a mere facsimile of an actual publication. Betty's stomach did flip-flops. "Annette, if I can get Daniel to convince Alex to greenlight this, you're looking at the next step in my 5-year plan!"

"Five-year plan? What are you talking about?"

"Four years ago, someone—someone special to me—pushed me to make a career plan for the future. I don't want to be Daniel Meade's assistant forever, you know. I have ambitions of my own. Of course, Daniel's always been good about letting me do writing assignments on the side. At first, it was an article here, an interview there. Then there was my series for _What's Happening_ magazine, the one on women who are master chefs in Manhattan. And lately you've seen my column on local trends in ethnic cuisine carried by _Metro Menus Monthly_. That column was actually what inspired this." She waved the magazine at the girl.

"It would be a big feather in my cap to get a magazine started from scratch," Betty continued. "You know, Daniel was Editor at _Player_ for awhile and it turned out to be the perfect niche for him to develop the skills and confidence to recapture control at _Mode_. But neither _Player_ nor _Mode_ has really been a good fit for me. I mean, I've learned a lot, but I think a food-focused platform will be perfect for me. I'm from a foodie family. My Papi's a terrific chef who's always worked in food services. I wish you could taste his mole and his flan. My sister Hilda's husband manages a soul food restaurant over in Jersey. And I'm sure you've noticed that I myself like to eat," Betty grinned. "Now, I doubt that the Meades will think I'm ready to run my own magazine yet, but if Daniel backs my concept, they might give me a key role in its operations."

"But won't he mind losing you as his assistant? And won't you feel guilty leaving such a great boss?"

"Daniel's wonderful, but I have my own career to think of, and he understands that. You know, too many times in the past, I used to worry only about what was right for everyone else. I'd get so tied up in doing what I thought I was supposed to do that I'd forget to think about what's best for _me_. Don't let that happen to you, Annette." Absently fingering a small round silver disc that dangled from her watch band, Betty added, "A sense of duty is good, but don't let it stifle your dreams."

"What's that?" asked Annette, pointing to the silver charm.

"Hmm? Oh, just a gift I got from a friend years ago."

"Can I see the engraving?" Betty extended her arm. "JUST BE," read Annette. "What does that mean?"

Betty's mind wandered back to the day the little jewelry box had arrived from Rome. The memory still triggered a small stab to her heart and she quickly pushed it aside. "Long story. Maybe I'll tell you sometime."

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Daniel's office was empty when Betty arrived at 5 pm. Darkness had already engulfed the late autumn sky. She turned on the lights. The broad windows that exposed the office to the full sweep of the New York skyline during the day now reflected her own image back to her. Her braces were long gone, but otherwise her appearance had changed only in subtle ways since her early days at Meade Publications.

Three years ago, when the braces came off, Claire Meade had treated her to a thorough makeover courtesy of some top-dollar talent: a celebrity hair stylist, a make-up wizard and a fashion consultant to the stars. Betty had abandoned the little-girl puffed sleeves that once featured prominently in her wardrobe. Indeed, her choices did have a more stylish cut these days. However, gaily clashing bright colors and patterns had remained central to her fashion aesthetic.

The swingy shoulder-length coif had turned out to be more manageable than the black haystack Hilda had fruitlessly tried to tame for years, so the new hairdo stayed. But while no part of the makeover had drawn more compliments than her newly tweezed and arched eyebrows, Betty had felt like an imposter whenever she had spotted them in the mirror. Maybe the heavy black hedges that had always umbrellaed each eye weren't to everyone's taste, but they were part of what made her unique and she was stubbornly glad when they grew back beneath the still ever-present red-framed glasses.

Betty had quickly reverted to being Betty, albeit a tweaked version of her younger self. Yet as those around her became increasingly aware of the influence she wielded in the Meade family's inner circle, it turned out that no cosmetic product beautified a girl more than sheer power. Over time the look that in younger days had earned her contempt within the company became a distinctive trademark of her independence and offbeat vision.

Now, contemplating the unhappiness Danny's latest shenanigans were bound to cause Daniel, her thick brows were knit into a formidable scowl. Daniel, entering briskly, saw his assistant turn away from the window and drew himself up short, as if she had cracked her sour expression at him like a whip. "Whoa, not a happy face there, Betty! Who are you wearing that frown for? And I hope to God it's not me."

"Not you this time. In fact, here's the culprit now." Danny sauntered in nonchalantly, but his eyes darted around the room, anxiously avoiding his father's puzzled stare.

"Good news, Daniel," continued Betty. "You won't have to deal with that increase in the St. Lucius tuition for next quarter. Danny's helped you out by disenrolling there."

"I don't follow. Tuition . . . that's not really an issue . . ." said Daniel, but his grimace revealed that he was already bracing for trouble and preparing to take upon himself the blame for his son's misbehavior, whatever it might turn out to be.

"Tell him, Danny," commanded Betty. As the boy's confession tumbled out, the expressions flitting across his father's face betrayed that Daniel on the one hand didn't see what the fuss was about but on the other hand knew it must be bad, because Betty seemed to think it was and he trusted her responses.

"Well, son, I guess we're going to have to cut back on that holiday ski trip you're planning. Just one week, not two, because the first week you're grounded. . . ." Daniel noticed Betty shaking her head. "Er, in fact, wait, no. …What?" He was trying to grasp what she expected of him.

Betty took charge. "I think your father meant to say 'No ski trip at all.' And no car and no dates for a month. I've called around all afternoon trying to find another school to take you but there are no openings until March, so for now that means a tutor. And don't smile, _I'm_ picking the tutor, which means no blondes with boobs. And when you're not attacking your schoolwork, wiseguy, you're going to be spending your off hours at Meade, interning. You start at 9 a.m. tomorrow, so be in my office on time." Turning to the other Meade, she added, "That's if all this is okay with you, Daniel?"

Danny turned his eyes beseechingly to Daniel and saw his Dad waver. The boy knew that if Betty weren't there he could get his father to back down, but a part of him was glad she didn't allow it. He hated that he knew how to play on Daniel's insecurity about his own paternal skills, hated that he could evoke this weakness in him. Sometimes Danny couldn't stop himself, but Betty could stop him, and that's why he loved her.

"You heard her, Danny. No arguing. You can go now," When they were alone, the powerful Editor-in-Chief of _Mode_ magazine turned sheepishly to the pint-sized woman beside him. "He'll think I hate him now, and he'll hate me."

"No, he won't. Why do you say that? Because you set limits? Daniel, your son knows you love him. You're not Bradford. It's no gift to a child to let him have all the power in your relationship. He can't handle that and he doesn't really want it. He wants your respect and he wants you to make him earn it, because that shows that you believe he can be a good person."

"I guess you're right. Thanks. Except—no blondes with boobs? For sure, he'll hate me for that." Daniel fixed her with a grave and affectionate stare. "You're good for him, Betty, the way you used to be for me."

"Oh, think you've outgrown me, do you?"

"Nah—me, my son, my mother—all the Meades need you. Always will."

"And I need you. By which I mean, I need you to take a look at _this_." She handed him a bulging manila envelope labeled CONFIDENTIAL. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, and she responded airily, "Just a project I've been working on. Let me know what you think."

At the door she turned, "Don't worry too much about Danny. You know, I myself was once expelled from junior high."

Her boss's jaw dropped. "You? You've got to be kidding."

"And I turned out all right."

"Well, Danny's a junior in high school. You were younger then than he is now."

"Actually, I was 24. But you can be young at any age, you know. Anyway, I learned something important about myself that day. This could be a turning point for Danny, too."

She left him shaking his head in confusion.

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The elevator doors glided open and Danny steamed out into the lobby, his face hot with rage, shame and misery. Why, he thought, did he sabotage himself like this? Why did being bad feel so good when he was doing it and so horrible later on? And why did he always forget this when new opportunities for mischief presented themselves?

"Danny!" Damn, it's what's-her-name, Braces, from Betty's office. Wish she'd bug off. Who wants to be seen like this?

"Hey, what's wrong, Danny?"

"Oh, my father, what a jerk. There's this girl," he spat, not noticing the pixie face tighten suddenly. "My father can't stand to learn that we have an adult relationship. Just wants me to stay a dumb kid forever. And now I have to be one of those f--king lame _interns_ at Meade."

Annette froze in place, her eyes fixed miserably on the floor. "How _awful_ for you," she snapped.

Uh-oh, she sounds offended. What's her problem? "Are you stuck here? Do you got a ride?" he asked.

"No, taking the subway. I'm on my way out now."

"Yeah, me too."

For a moment Annette's heart raced. They'd walk there together. What could they talk about? Would she be tongue-tied like a fool? Dejectedly, she quickly realized there was no need to worry. Danny tramped off ahead of her, caught up in his own little world, leaving her in the dust.

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A few minutes later, Betty, too, was headed for the subway. She was passing the window that had once for a few months sported a smiling pickle, but now fronted a manicure parlor, currently locked up for the night. Abruptly, she came to a halt, startled. Up ahead on the street, moving away from her with a familiar swagger, she spied coal-dark hair, a compact build, broad shoulders nearly bursting the seams of a sleek black leather jacket, muscular legs sheathed in denim. Her pulse pounded. It couldn't be! It had been years! As if sensing her attention, he turned his head to look behind him. Her rapid breathing subsided as she beheld his face—a stranger's face.

There had been a time when such déjà vu plagued her relentlessly. For so long after he'd gone away, he had seemed to be everywhere, on the street, in a crowded elevator, at the wheel of a passing car. But she'd moved on and forced him out of her heart, and now it was a rare occurrence. Weeks, even months had gone by when she thought of him not at all. Surely he was haunting her tonight only because two conversations that day—the one with Annette and the one just now with Daniel—had evoked snatches of memories. Still distracted, she stole a glance through the manicurists' window. Peering into the dark interior of the shop, she felt herself hurled back to a moment of desire erupting as suddenly as a summer storm . . . strong hands gripping her head . . . urgent lips on hers . . . her own body quivering, melting . . . a hunger so raw it scared her.

Aware of an unwelcome heat flushing her face, she turned away violently, herding her thoughts back toward everyday reality and sanity. It was possible that she would never meet him again in this life, never again see the masculine pride in his eyes or his teasing good humor or the naked devotion that he couldn't hide and she couldn't let herself acknowledge. A chance lost forever—she had taught herself how to live with that truth, by focusing on the future. What might have been? She had had to let that gnawing question go, and she had succeeded brilliantly.

Betty willed herself to concentrate on other things. Tomorrow Daniel would give her feedback on her magazine proposal, and she felt pretty confident he'd like it. But if not, well, she hadn't told even Annette, but she was prepared to shop it to another publisher if necessary. For awhile her career had stalled, but Year 5 of her plan would soon overtake her and it was time to spread her wings.


	2. How You Remind Me

Chapter 2

~ How Your Remind Me ~

"Eight o'clock! You're in bright and early this morning." Claire Meade, co-Editor-in-Chief of _Hot Flash_, sailed into the office of the Editor-in-Chief of _Mode_, and surveyed the mounds of paper scattered over the surface of his desk. "Well, early, anyway, maybe not so bright," she amended at the sight of her son's loosened tie, grimly set mouth and puffy, tired eyes. "Daniel, have you been up all night? I'm not sure which is more disheveled—you or your desktop. Could you find a single item there that you wanted without first shuffling through a couple dozen others?"

"Actually, there's an order to my madness," retorted her son. "What you see before you is three distinct groupings of documents, all spelling trouble for me. Over here on the left—these are the principal photography for our two major fashion layouts in the current issue. They're awful! With our regular photographers on strike, we're left with second-rate over-the-hill hacks or else neophytes with talent but no understanding of how to work with models. But at least, now that Cliff's been elevated to Creative Director, I can throw the problem in _his_ lap. As a world-class photographer himself, hopefully he can tap resources I don't know about. Otherwise, goddamn it, he'll have to re-shoot these features himself."

"So that problem's under control, sort of. And what's that pile on your right?"

"Just the seemingly ever-growing evidence of my pathetic shortcomings as a father."

"Let me guess, Danny's screwed up again? Did it ever occur to you that this may have more to do with his shortcomings as a son than with any inadequacy on your part?"

"Gee, is that what you told yourself when Alex and I were teens acting out against our absentee parents?"

Claire fell back a step, sustaining the blow, then pulled herself up straight. "Ouch, landed a good one there. Feel better?"

"I'm sorry, Mother, you don't deserve that. It's just . . . Danny's been kicked out of yet another school, and believe me, they had plenty of reasons. Here's the letter from the headmaster at St. Lucius, officially expelling him. And this here's a warning from the truant officer. Oh, and these messages? They all seem to be from the irate father of one of his little girlfriends, who I'm praying isn't too muscular or too well connected within the Department of Justice. Nevertheless, I really can't let Danny shoulder all the blame, can I? I mean, I'm well aware of how much I don't know about being a parent. And I'm damned if I'll undermine his sense of security by going on the attack, like Bradford would. The boy shouldn't be made to suffer just because I don't know how to manage him."

"Danny's a good, loving kid at heart, Daniel, but he doesn't lack self-confidence the way you did. He lacks discipline and a sense of accountability. You'll only reinforce your son's recklessness and feelings of entitlement if you don't show him that he needs to own up to his own misbehavior and accept the consequences."

"Yeah, that's what Betty said. She pretty much dictated the terms of his punishment last night."

"Well, thank God for Betty, then. I always say you're lucky to have her on your team. She's been a lifesaver to you and you don't pay her nearly enough."

Daniel threw up his hands in frustration. "Damn it, that's what everyone's always saying! So I'm always increasing her pay and still nobody thinks it's enough! Just how much do you think I should be paying her, anyway?"

"I don't know. How much do you pay her now?"

"See? You don't even know!"

"No, I just know it can't be enough. You don't want to lose her, do you? Now, what's your third problem?"

"My third problem is, I may be losing Betty."

"I told you so!"

"No, really, look these over." Daniel grabbed a pile from the midst of the clutter before him and shoved it into his mother's hands.

"What's all this?"

"My third problem—a new project of Betty's, a proposal for a cooking magazine. I was going to bring it to you to review today. Could you get back to me with your opinion sometime after lunch? Even though I'm dreading to hear it."

"Oh dear, is it so bad that you're going to have to reject it outright? Still, she might be disappointed, but I don't think she'd quit over that, Daniel."

"No, you don't understand. It's surprisingly _good_. It's better than good. How could I watch her work right under my nose all these years and not realize how well she's come to know the publishing business? I mean, she's always had talent and imagination, but this is really sophisticated. In fact if all her research and her numbers hold up, this could be damned near ready to go into production."

"And you're not happy about that?"

"If this flies—and my guess is that Alex will approve it—I can't stand in Betty's way. She'll deserve a major editorial role. It's her big chance. Now, it's selfish, I know, but, Mother, she's always been there for me. I don't know how I'll operate without her. And, also . . . I'll just miss her. Like the song says, I've grown accustomed to her face."

"Ah, yes, _My Fair Lady_. Well, remember—Henry Higgins got to keep his Eliza in the end."

"That's true, but Eliza lived in his house and was willing to keep doing all the things she'd always done for him. She wasn't embarking on a whole new career."

"But maybe if she had, they still would have worked something out." Claire swept towards the door with Betty's offerings in her arms. "Of course, Henry was in love with Eliza. That's the difference." She shot Daniel a sharp look. "Or is it?" Then she was gone.

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Justin smiled gleefully as he hugged his aunt. "I don't know why you asked to see me so early today, Aunt Betty, but thank you, thank you, thank you! You know I'm grateful that you got Christina to give me that tailoring apprenticeship, and it's really going to come in handy when I apply for fashion school next year. But the thing is, Christina says I'm built just like Elizabeta—you know, that model who dated Daniel for awhile?—and she's always making me stand in for her at fittings when the girl's too hung over to show up for work. Which happens, like, _every_ morning. What did Daniel see in her? Anyway, sometimes I don't mind so much, but today they're doing the peasant look, which is _so_ fey. You know, Marc never made me do stuff like that back when I was his intern."

"Well, that was before you grew up to be a willowy 5-foot-10. Actually, you're just lucky that Amanda never got her claws on you back then, or you'd have been dressed up in something a lot more fey than the peasant look. And she'd have made you walk her stinky little dog, to boot. In the meantime, tell me, how's your new baby brother?"

"Very loud! Man, that kid's got lungs! Which he mostly likes to exercise when everyone else is sleeping. And does he have Mom and Jamal whipped, like they're more his slaves than his parents."

"He's just a baby, Justin, give him a break. Crying is his only way of getting his needs met. Don't worry, he'll grow out of it soon enough."

"Hey, after 18 years with no competition, let me have my little moment of sibling rivalry! Don't worry, I'll grow out of it soon enough."

Betty switched topics: "So let me tell you why I called you here, I have a favor to ask of you. And it just might get you out of those early morning fittings, at least for awhile."

"Great! I'm all ears!"

"Well, I know that last June you were happy to graduate from high school a year early, but how would you like to get back in the classroom? This time, as a teacher. With a class of just one student."

"Class in what subject?"

"Two, actually. I'm asking because they were two of your best: Geometry and Spanish."

"Well, Spanish, duh, all I had to do was channel Grandpa. And, geometry just came naturally to me somehow. It's very spatial, which I'm sure is linked to my fine, fine sense of design. So, who would be my lucky instructee?"

Betty cleared her throat. "You know Daniel's son Danny?"

"Okay, thanks for the offer but no thanks, bye!" Justin jumped up, ready to dash for the exit.

"Wait, Justin, I know Danny is spoiled rotten, but at least he's never going to ask to sew you into a fashion project."

"Well, yeah . . . "

"And, um, Christina tells me they'll be fitting the models for gold lamé swimwear later this week. Bikinis, I think she said."

"Curses, why'd I have to be built so damned willowy? All right, you got me. But why does that guy need me to teach him? Can't he just take those classes in school?"

"Long story short, Danny's been expelled and I can't line up a professional tutor until after Christmas. But in the meantime, he's been skipping his Spanish and geometry classes for over two months and needs to get caught up. I guarantee Daniel will pay you quite well for taking this extra job on. He realizes it will be a challenge."

"Woo-hoo, Meade money! So I'll at least get a wardrobe update out of this. Open your cash registers, Dolce and Gabbana, here I come!"

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Betty grinned, recognizing the Scottish brogue upbraiding her through the phone. "I thought we were friends! Why are you taking away me most obedient and responsible model for the foreseeable future? Justin's such a gem, bless his androgynous little heart. I _need_ him! And furthermore, why did you send that pretty fruit of your boss's loins down here to toy with the hearts of all me other models? Danny said you sent him to get the girls' measurements. That can't be right, can it?"

"Hah! He wishes! I'm having Justin tutor Danny for a couple of months, and I sent Danny down to set up a class schedule with him. Pul-lease keep your models away from that jail-bait, Christina. That is one piece of bait that will jump right off the hook to go swimming after the fishes if he gets the chance. Oh, and keep your own hands off him, too, of course."

"Really, Betty, who do you imagine you're talking to? Just because he's adorable and nubile and has that sweet accent and . . . .okay, okay, thanks for reminding me. No robbing the cradle! By the way, do you want to meet for a drink after work?"

"Oooooo, how did you know? I'm hoping to have big news about my future today, so by closing time I'll definitely be needing a drink either to celebrate or drown my sorrows. You're on!"

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Arriving at _Mode_ for her usual after-school shift, Annette found her supervisor in her office pacing nervously. With the _Cuisine_ project wrapped up, obviously this was not going to be a typical workday.

"Good afternoon. Did everything go well today, Ms. Suarez? Did you get a chance to give Mr. Meade the magazine proposal?"

"Actually, I handed it to him last night, and I have an appointment with him in about half an hour to hear his reaction. Listen, Annette, the waiting is killing me, so I'm too keyed up to work right now. Let's just use this time to sit and talk. I will have another assignment to tell you about a little later, but in the meantime, tell me, are you getting what you hoped for out of this internship?"

"Oh yes, especially since I've gotten to work so closely with you. The other interns are kind of jealous."

"Even though I'm just an assistant?"

"But you're more than that! You're a writer, and you know so much about magazines! This internship has convinced me that I need to go to art school after I'm done with high school next year. I love painting and I love graphic art and I love photography, and a career in this industry would allow me to indulge all those interests. You've made me really excited about my future."

Annette glanced inquisitively at the charm hanging from Betty's watch band. "Ms. Suarez," she continued, "Could you tell me more about making a 5-year plan? Where did you get that idea? And what does 'Just Be' mean? You said you'd tell me sometime."

Betty settled into a chair and smoothed her skirt down with her hands. "Okay, once upon a time, there was a young guy who manned the sandwich cart at _Mode_, and without meaning to, I got him fired on his very first day of work here. But do you know, he never really held it against me because he said it gave him the kick in the pants he needed to start on his 5-year plan. It turned out that he wanted more than just a job and an income. He had actually been studying and experimenting and he knew just about everything there was to know about cold cuts and salads and breadmaking and mixing flavors and textures. He was a craftsman. Why are you smiling?"

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking about how much you love eating sandwiches. It sounds like this guy would be a handy kind of friend for you to have."

"He was. He was a really good friend. He used to embarrass me by calling me The Eater, but what kept me from killing him for it was that to him it was a huge compliment. He loved to see people enjoying the food he made for them, and you can imagine he didn't get much chance for that with his emaciated _Mode_ clientele."

"So, the 5-year plan?"

"You see, he wanted to eventually own a sandwich shop with the world's longest condiment bar, and after I got him fired, he took the first step toward that by opening a little deli. You know where the manicure place is? That's where the deli used to be. Now, this guy had attitude to spare. If you just knew him casually you might think he was quite a smartass—and you'd be right—but underneath, he was also responsible and level-headed and hard-working and ambitious. Me, on the other hand, I was in limbo in my job, hanging in and helping Daniel, but not doing anything to get ahead. This guy inspired me—shamed me, really—into getting back to my writing. He encouraged me to take a writing class on my lunch hour, and then he encouraged me to go after writing assignments here. He got me going on my own 5-year plan. I'd like to think he'd be proud if he knew what you and I put together over the last couple months."

"And did he ever get his long condiment bar?"

Betty dropped her eyes. Annette was surprised to see how melancholy she looked. "I can't tell you that," said Betty. "I actually knew him for only a few months. After that he went away to Italy and we fell out of touch."

"Ms. Suarez," Annette's voice was gentle. "Was that man more than a friend to you?"

Betty cast a pensive look at her protégé and sighed. "Now that's a complicated question. For most of the time I knew him, I was in love with somebody else. But there's no question that there was a connection between us. He just seemed to get me, you know. He knew me so well. . . ." Her voiced trailed off, and her mind seemed to have drifted far away.

"And did the silver charm come from him?"

Betty's thoughts drifted back to the last time she and Gio had been together.

_She had two questions to weigh—Gio's invitation for a monthlong trip to Italy, and a marriage proposal from her former boyfriend Henry. And she handled the situation miserably. What Gio asked of her filled her with a giddy joy. The few hours right after she said yes to him she secretly remembered as the happiest of her life. _

_Then later the same day Henry arrived unexpectedly with a request that she come home with him to Arizona as his wife. Only a couple months earlier, that had been exactly what she had prayed for—a sweeping away of all the obstacles that kept them apart. Yet when the proposal came, there was no excitement, no happiness, only anxiety and puzzlement and irritation. _

_Weeks afterwards, Betty bitterly regretted not having gone with her feelings at that moment. She should have told her suitor at once that it was too late for them, that she had moved on, that she had cried all the love out of her heart. What was left was simple affection and a hope that he could build a contented and fulfilling life without her. But she had adored him for so long, she didn't believe in those empty feelings. How could so powerful a love wither away in a few short weeks? Could she be that fickle? That shallow? No, surely she simply needed time to adjust to the idea and then the ecstasy and love would engulf her anew. _

_The following afternoon she, Henry and Gio all played in the Mode-Elle_ _softball game. In short order, each of her admirers learned of the other's plans for her, and each was aghast. Somehow, the three of them ended up covering the outfield together for Mode. While waiting for the game to begin, Betty looked to her left and saw Henry in his anguish, and all she felt was guilt and pity. She just wanted him gone. Then she looked to her right, and the depths of sadness in Gio's face almost destroyed her. She had not realized until that very instant that she cared so much, and the knowledge washed over her and shocked her like a splash of icy sea water. Her impulse was to run to him and cradle him and tell him, "It's okay, you're the one, I choose you." If only she had, if only, if only . . ._

_But at that moment, Willi Slater threw the pitch that kicked off the game. And when the teams reached the last inning an accident occurred. All three outfielders went after a pop-up fly headed for center field, and somehow Betty was knocked to the ground unconscious. Upon recovering, she had no awareness of how much time she had been passed out or what had flitted through her mind as she lay there insensible. However, for some reason she awoke with a new sense of resolve. At the close of the game, she fled the field without speaking to either man. She went home, showered and washed her hair, crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over her head. _

_The next day, she arrived at Henry's hotel room and knocked on the door gripping his ring in her hand. The door opened in a flash. Spying the twinkle of the diamond she held, Henry began a slow grin and pulled her into the room: "I trust you're here to let me place that on your finger."_

"_No, I'm so sorry," she blurted out. "I can't marry you. I can't move to Arizona. Not now, not ever."_

"_What? I don't understand. Look, Betty, if it's leaving your family or your job you're worried about, just say you'll be my wife and we'll find another way to get there from here. It's complicated—I mean, there's baby Nate, he has to be taken into account. But I love you enough that I'm committed to finding a way for us. You don't know, these weeks without you have been hell on earth."_

"_Oh, Henry, they were hell for me, too. But I've come through that tunnel and out the other side. I'm sorry and I—I'm ashamed, but I find I'm not the person you thought I was. It's just over for me. I hate saying it as much as you hate hearing it, but you need to know that there are no plans you can make, no accommodations you can agree to, which would change things. Even if you came back to New York now, we would still be finished."_

_She pressed the ring into his hand and folded his fingers over it. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Tears glittered in his eyes. Finally he spoke. "Is it Gio, then?" His rising voice held torment mixed with mounting anger. _

_And so that he would understand once and for all that there was no hope, she told him. "Yes. It's Gio. I love him." It was the only time in her life she had ever admitted it out loud, and Gio was not there to hear it. _

_Thus Henry learned that the one thing he had feared most had come to pass. He threw her out then, telling her she was cruel, saying he never wanted to see her again, all the things she believed she so richly deserved. Helpless to comfort him, she left him looking beaten and dead inside._

_Outside the hotel, she punched Gio's number into her cell phone, catching him at his deli, where he was wrapping up a few loose ends with the cousin who would be filling in for him during his Rome sabbatical. She asked him to meet her in the same park where two days earlier he had taught her to slug a softball._

_When she arrived, Gio was already there. Despite the season the air was nippy that day and, wrapped in his brown leather jacket to ward off the chill, he appeared to her impossibly handsome. Right off the bat, he challenged her, "You've been to see Henry."_

"_Yes."_

"_And now you've come to give me the bad news."_

_Betty held up her left hand and wiggled the second finger from the end to show that it held no ring. "Gio, I told him that I would never marry him and that's the truth. But now I have to tell you that I also can't go to Rome with you." His eyes left her face and looked off into the distance as she continued, "Right now I don't trust what I feel, and going away with you for so long, I'm afraid it could be a trap. It's too much pressure. You told me you want to be The Guy—my guy—but I'm just not ready yet to say that you are._ _And it wouldn't be fair for me to go with you until I sort it out for myself." Her hand took hold of his arm and he looked back at her, listening, his mouth set in a grim line. "I'm not saying no to you, Gio. You're very special to me, and I'll still be here when you get back. We can both use this month to think things over, okay?"_

_Unexpectedly, he tossed her a wry grin. "Back to playing it safe, aren't you? I guess you have your reasons, though I'll never understand how your mind works. Anyway, I don't need to think things over, as you say, but I do get the message that I'll have to wait. Again. Oh well, I've got a lot of practice at that. I guess I can hang in there a bit longer." He tickled her side with teasing fingers. "So, I'm still a little too hot for you to handle, is that it? Tell you what, I'm going to send you a pair of oven mitts from Italy. And you better be wearing 'em next time I see you, because I'll be coming right at you, B, and—believe me—you're gonna feel the heat."_

_Betty smiled a little at Gio's quip. She slipped one arm lightly around his waist and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, relieved that he seemed to be managing his disappointment well. Gio bent his head and peered intently at her face with a quizzical expression, while tracing circles on her back with his hand. _

_Abruptly, in a husky voice he muttered, "Come here," and swept her into a ferocious hug, rocking with her as though the motion would somehow mold them closer together. As they slowed to a stop, his right hand came up and cupped the back of her head. He buried his face in her neck and grazed there with kisses. After a moment, she pulled her head back to gaze for a long moment into his shining eyes, her hand caressing the curve of his cheek. Then, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him softly on his lips. His chest rose and fell, as a powerful sigh escaped him. Suddenly, she felt his mouth moving wildly against hers, greedy and desperate, and her own mouth responded in kind, as a fund of passion welled from deep within her. Her lips, her tongue could not get enough of his. But at last Gio pulled away, letting his hands slide down her arms, linger a moment in her hands and finally break clean. _

_Stepping back and tucking his hands in his pockets, he spoke gruffly, "I'm really going to miss you in Rome, Betty. I'll miss the plans I had for us."_

"_I don't want you to miss me. I want your trip to be so exciting that you won't have time to miss me. I want you to find out everything there is to know about Italian cooking, and then come back and cook for me till I burst from sampling everything you've learned. This is going to be a great adventure for you, Gio. Make the most of it—please!" In reply, Gio nodded and winked at her, but his expression was solemn as he turned and strode off. _

_Betty called after him, "Hey, do you want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?"_

_Without looking around, he called back, "No, that's all right. I'll be home in a month. See you then!"_

_At first, time passed quickly. On the day of the ball game, she had already decided that the Suarez family home did not afford her the privacy and freedom she needed to accommodate her rapidly evolving life. So she rented an apartment over in Brooklyn Heights, asked Christina to be her roommate, and moved there. _

_It happened that Daniel's and her circumstances were in upheaval during that period, so that the stress of her job kept her stirred up, and Christina's difficult pregnancy also absorbed much of her attention. But as the days sped by, she observed with increasing confidence and anticipation that her ardor for Gio was not wavering as she had feared it might. In stolen moments, she found herself daydreaming about her man's return, growing more and more sure of her feelings, more impatient for the chance to let him know that she was truly his. She yearned for Gio to plague and tease her and feed her cookies. She yearned even more to feel his strong arms around her again. And she nurtured another fantasy she was eager to turn into a reality—the chance to share a bed and to make love with him for the first time._

_But Gio never came home. And when a gift arrived from Rome, it held not oven mitts, but a tiny silver charm and a letter with a message that sliced her heart into pieces._

"Ms Suarez? The charm?" Annette's voice jolted Betty from her reverie.

"Yes, Annette, it was a gift from the same man, the sandwich guy. Back when I knew him, I sometimes—often, in fact—used to find myself making poor life choices based on some impossibly rigid standard I'd set for myself. One time when I was particularly miserable, he pointed out that I was constantly beating myself up over how I thought I _should_ be, and he said that instead I needed to learn how to 'just be.'" Betty chuckled. "And then he got me to engage in an act of petty burglary."

"You? Stealing? But stealing is wrong!"

"I agree, but in this case it was also very liberating. And I wasn't a bit sorry. Unfortunately, 'just be' turned out to be a lesson I had difficulty absorbing. A time came when I failed to follow it, and it led to the biggest mistake of my life, which I don't want to talk about further. Just suffice it to say, later on when my friend sent me the charm from Italy, I decided to wear it every day as a reminder."

Annette glanced at the clock on Betty's desk. "I think it must be time for your appointment with Mr. Meade now, isn't it?"

"Why, yes it is. Thank you, Annette. Oh, by the way, if you're thinking of putting together your own 5-year plan, a good way to start is by talking to people who've already gone down the career path you're seeking to follow. If you'd like, I'll be happy to arrange an interview for you with my friend Cliff St. Paul, _Mode_'s Creative Director. Among other things, he's an amazing photographer, he's very kind and approachable, and he has the complete confidence of the Meades. And, speaking of the Meades, here comes your next assignment now."

At that moment, Danny Meade slouched into the room. Annette felt her cheeks grow hot and hoped that neither he nor Betty noticed that her face had suddenly started blushing furiously.


	3. A Life Less Ordinary

Chapter 3

~ A Life Less Ordinary ~

Betty could not suppress a shiver of hopeful anticipation as she headed for Daniel's office, but once inside the door she felt her heart drop. Waiting in a chair by his desk and clutching her magazine in his hands, Daniel appeared clearly despondent.

"Did you check out my _Cuisine_ proposal, Daniel?"

"Actually, I did, and I also shared it with my mother and Alex."

"From the look on your face, can I take it your response is not good news?"

"Well, that depends on how you look at it." He motioned for her to sit in a chair pulled up next to his. "Betty, can you summarize for me as simply as possible the idea behind this magazine. What would make it unique in today's market?"

"Look, Daniel, I know there are a lot of food-related magazines out there, but I think this one fills a special niche. It will focus on the great variety of ethnic cuisines, showing how today's chefs wed classic cooking traditions to new tastes, new mixtures of ingredients, and new techniques. The audience will be primarily the home cook who wants to introduce some adventure and sophistication into his or her repertoire. However, the contents should also draw interest from upscale diners who frequent the finest restaurants and are anxious to keep up with the latest trends."

"One thing that surprises me is the title. Forgive me, but you usually go in for the cutesie hook, like 'Getting to Gnaw You' or 'Lovin' from the Oven.' Just one word—_Cuisine_—that seems rather stark, doesn't it?"

"Okay, you got me. I did have to curb my natural weakness for wordplay, although—lovin' from the oven?—ewww, I was never _that_ lame. But "cute" isn't what I want to convey here. I want the title to evoke elegance, worldliness, authenticity. I think this title fits the bill. So tell me, are you pleased with my product? Are you disappointed?" She scanned his face, trying to read his expression. "Are you trying to break the bad news to me gently?"

"I'm trying to break it to you gently that you no longer have a job in this office."

Betty's eyebrows shot up, startled. "I'm fired?"

"No, you're promoted—if you want it. This is a stunning accomplishment, Betty, and you should be proud. Alex was impressed and wants you to make a presentation to the Board of Directors. If they give it the nod, which we feel sure they will if you showcase it properly, you can start working on getting an issue ready to go to press as soon as possible. With the work you've already done, that might take as little as three or four months."

"And what would be my role? I know I'm not ready to be an Editor-in-Chief yet."

"Not on your own. But my mother came up with the idea of sharing that title with you. She'd mentor you, just as she's been doing with Letitia Trott." Betty knew that "Light-Fingers Letty" was now Claire's protégé and co-Editor at _Hot Flash,_ and that the former pickpocket was thriving under Claire's tutelage.

"Omigod, thank her for me, Daniel. That would be perfect. Your mother's already kind of like my second mother, and I can learn so much from her. You don't know what this means to me. But, can I ask—when I walked in here, I felt sure you were about to lower the boom on me. Why such a mopey face?"

Bowing his handsome head, her employer cast his eyes grimly at the floor. "We've been through so much together, Betty. You helped me prove to my Father that I was worth something. You helped me battle Willi Slater and make a name for myself in publishing. Every day, you make a thousand different responsibilities and decisions so much easier. And not only my job. You've helped me through some treacherous romances. You've helped me with my son. And you're just fun to have around. You've been, really, my best friend. I can't imagine going on here without you, and yet I'll have to."

Betty put her hand under his chin and raised it to gaze sympathetically into his eyes. "I will _always_ be your friend, Daniel. For that matter, I'll still be your neighbor. I mean we'll still be in the same building. We can have lunches together when we're not too busy . . ."

". . . which will be never . . ."

"Well, then breakfast—or a drink after work. And your family is like my second family. Of course I'll stay involved with Danny. I love you, Daniel, I'm not going to just walk out of your life."

"You love me?"

"Sure! Don't you love me?"

"Um, yes."

"So everything will be fine, you'll see. I've got to meet Christina now, but we'll talk tomorrow, OK? That is, if you're free." Jumping up, she quickly enveloped her erstwhile boss in an affectionate hug and flew out of the room. Daniel tossed the magazine in his hand onto his desk and stared after her glumly

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

Arriving at La Vie en Fuchsia, currently a favorite bar with _Mode_ employees, Betty saw that her best girlfriend had already ordered margaritas for them. Betty crinkled her brow. "What, no appetizers?"

"Since this seems to be a big day for you, I thought you should get to choose the appetizer," replied Christina.

"Yay, then I choose an order of each one on the menu." Christina looked askance at her and Betty relented, "Oh, okay, not each one. But let's get at least four kinds, what do you say?"

"I'm afraid I can't stay long enough to eat that many. I've only got a babysitter for Ian until seven. You'd just end up having to take lots of leftovers home in doggie bags."

"I can live with that." Betty waved a waitress over and indicated her selections from the menu. "Now, before we get started—if Justin asks, your team is working on gold lamé swimwear for the next couple of days."

"Suits me, I guess. I won't ask why the upright Betty Suarez is all of a sudden lying to her nephew. But don't keep me in suspense. I'm not exactly seeing teardrops running down your cheeks, so tell me, who's the man who's about to change your life? Is Lucas back in the picture? I saw him on the street the other day, so I know he's in New York now."

"No, I haven't been in touch with Lucas since we broke up nearly a year ago, and I have no desire to do so. The man who's changing my life is Daniel."

Christina's jaw dropped. "You and _Daniel?_ You mean he's swearing off the long string of tall, leggy, gorgeous nitwits so he can be with--? Oops, sorry, dear. Of course, now that you mention it, it does make a kind of sense. And I know he's always been fond of . . ."

"For Pete's sake! What a one-track mind you have! Daniel isn't wooing me. He's promoting me. Well, technically, Alex is, but anyway I'm getting my own magazine to edit, all about food. Claire Meade is going to help me and . . ." Betty rambled on cheerfully for awhile until she noticed her friend's attention straying, even as she nodded absently in response to Betty's chatter. "Sorry to run on so, Christina. Oh, good—here come those appetizers! Anyway, I know I'm talking a lot, but I'm just really excited! You, on the other hand, look disappointed."

"No, I _am_ glad for you. I guess I was just hoping that something was happening for you in the romance department. I realize your approach to your love life is a bit different from mine, but even so, you've been experiencing an awfully long dry spell in masculine companionship. There's been nobody since New Year's, has there? Celibacy—ugh." Christina shuddered. "Seems unnatural. Especially since, from the time I met you up until this year, there was always some guy in the picture, starting out with that sad sack Walter."

"I wouldn't say 'always,' exactly," frowned Betty.

"Well, sure, think about it. You left Walter for your first _true_ love Henry from Accounting. Then after Henry, there was Jesse the rock musician for awhile. And then Rudy the plumber your sister matched you up with, followed by Phil the young real estate tycoon . . ."

"He is _now_—back when we were together he was more a tycoon wannabe. Getting into the Donald Trump organization really changed him, and then it was 'Goodbye, Betty.' Which was fine with me."

"And then you and Lucas were together off and on for nearly two years. I really thought he might be the one. A guy who took you to Africa, how romantic! And those swarthy looks—so earthy."

"That one was serious, I admit. He seemed so soulful when we met. A photographer who jetted around the world, taking pictures of whatever people or events were capturing the public imagination? That did seem exciting at first, and I was flattered he noticed me. But, eventually I realized that he really didn't have a career or a plan . . ."

"Oh, you and your _plans!_" Christina motioned to their waitress for another round of drinks.

"But in Luke's case, that meant he wasn't building anything lasting. He would just take whatever assignment would fill his wallet for a few months and he didn't really care what it was. The photos of wildlife or of national celebrations or natural disasters et cetera et cetera—all that was well and good. But the paparazzi side of his work, after awhile I just couldn't stomach that. We've talked about this before. It was those sneaky pics he took of the Spanish princess—the ones when she was breastfeeding her baby in her own private courtyard—that was the last straw. I can't love a man if I can't respect him."

"Okay, but you get my point. For a long time, you had a significant male in your life almost constantly. I don't think I missed anybody . . ."

"Actually you did, right between Henry and Jesse."

Christina wrinkled her forehead, thinking back. "I don't remember . . . . Of course, that's when I was pregnant with Ian and going through all that drama with the Meades and Wilhelmina. So forgive me if I was a bit preoccupied . . . Oh, wait, are you talking about the rebound guy you hung out with for awhile after Henry, that Gio fellow? I suppose you could count him, since I remember seeing the two of you together all the time for a couple of months there, but I thought that was really more a friend thing than a romance."

"I nearly went away with him to Italy for a month, Christina."

"Yes, I remember, but then you backed out and moved in with me instead. And you never talked much about him during the time we were flatmates."

It was true. At first, Betty had not wanted to tell anyone else about her feelings for Gio until she had had a chance to share them with the man himself. Then after his letter came and her world fell apart, her pain had been too profound and too private to expose even to those closest to her. And there had been another reason. They had all so recently nursed her through the sad, if predictable, finale to the drawn-out tragedy that was her affair with Henry. The end with Gio had come only a couple of months later. She had doubted that anyone could possibly have understood how this seemingly brief interlude with another man—a man she had never officially dated or even acknowledged as a boyfriend—had left her with a sense of loss more devastating than anything else she had experienced since the death of her mother. If a piece of her soul had been ripped off and borne away to Europe, she decided the easiest way to heal the stump that was left was to put on a cheerful exterior and look relentlessly toward the future. Thus her friend to this day had no idea that, during the whole time they had roomed together, she had been both in love and in mourning. Furthermore, Betty saw no reason to enlighten her now.

"Gio was a special person and I did have feelings for him, actually, but I guess you're right. A rebound guy is what he turned out to be, after all. You know, though, it's strange, lately he's been much on my mind. I've hardly ever thought about him in recent years and then suddenly over the last couple days he keeps coming up in conversations."

"Any of the conversations occur before breakfast?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Me mum used to say that if a long-lost acquaintance was mentioned before breakfast, it meant that you'd hear from that person by nightfall."

"It would be nice to hear from Gio again, but it wouldn't surprise me if I never do. I don't even know if he ever came back to this country. He's probably somewhere in Tuscany cooking up a storm for a couple of toddlers and an increasingly chubby but satisfied Italian wife. No, I think the reason he's in my mind right now is because of this new step up in my career. He played a key role in encouraging me early on. It would please me if he could somehow know how well I'm doing. But that's silly. I doubt he thinks of me these days any more than I'd been thinking about him."

"Well, listen, I've got to run, but before I go, could you just pass on to Daniel me thanks for defusing that situation at the condo?"

Christina's custody suit years ago had ended with a judge's stripping Wilhelmina Slater of the parental status that served as the basis for her claim to part of Meade Publishing. The court's decision had emboldened Daniel to launch a campaign to oust La Slater and regain his Editorship at _Mode_ magazine. When Alex had finally turned on her, Willi was out altogether.

For a time, while Wilhelmina skillfully manipulated the new head of the Meade empire, she had wielded her power ruthlessly. Control of a full 50% of the Meade family shares—the combined assets of her ally Alex and her son-by-proxy in Christina's womb—had left her well armed to beat back any challenge Daniel presented. But the loss of Alex's backing meant that dominion over Ian could no longer serve to further her own ambitions. When that happened Willi had lost interest in the baby, so the threat she posed of further court appeals against Christina had vanished. Bradford's family acknowledged Ian as their patriarch's heir and provided financial support for his upkeep, but otherwise let his mother raise him as she saw fit.

The grateful Meades had acquired for their head seamstress a luxurious condo in a very exclusive high-rise populated mostly with celebrities and society folk, all financial high-rollers. Recently, the more snobbish and nosy among Christina's neighbors had taken to monitoring her social life, and somebody had filed a complaint about the look of her gentlemen callers and the hours they kept with her. Christina had mentioned this to Betty, Betty had passed the news along to Daniel, and suddenly the complaint had been withdrawn.

"I'm sure Daniel was happy to help, Christina. After all, he wouldn't want his little half-brother thrown out in the gutter."

"He _is_ a good man, Betty. You know, maybe you really should start considering the idea of hooking up with him as a life partner. I know I was pooh-poohing the idea earlier, but I might have been wrong. Daniel's sweet and smart and he cares about you, and with all the time you've spent working together you must have developed _some_ common interests. And he's certainly good-looking enough and knows his way around a bed."

"Oh, I guarantee you that his bed has never encountered anyone remotely like me. I mean, ask anyone, 'What kind of woman is Daniel Meade's type?' and they'll answer 'That would be a woman who's the exact opposite of Betty Suarez.'"

"But you know, he's matured in other ways. Maybe he's also grown up enough to be worthy of a woman like you."

"What a nice, tactful thing to say, Christina. Thank you." Betty patted her friend's hand affectionately.

"Of course he does come with a ready-made, rather grown-up son who's quite a handful."

"Oh, heck, Danny's already practically a son to me. And for all his flaws, I love that kid. Furthermore, with you and my sister Hilda both rocking a cradle these days, I've got to admit I hear that old biological clock ticking away now and again. No, instant motherhood's not the problem. The thing is, Daniel and I are not lover material for each other. It's a sweet suggestion, Christina, but it just doesn't fit. It's not us."

Tossing some bills on the table, Betty's drinking buddy rose to her feet. "Well, I'll take your word for it, but you know what? Never say never. Okay, I'm off. Somebody told me that I have a phantom order for gold lamé sportswear to whip up tomorrow. And, dearie, congratulations on your big news. The drinks and other goodies are me treat tonight. See you!"


	4. Nobody Wants to Be Lonely

Chapter 4

~ Nobody Wants to Be Lonely ~

_The sky was overcast, and Betty and Daniel were rock-climbing, joined by a long rope attached to each of their belts. Positioned well above him, Betty realized she had reached the top of the rugged cliff. She heaved herself over the edge and scrambled to her feet, crowing and jumping up and down in triumph._

_Looking down to check on Daniel's progress, she spotted him perched on a ledge several yards below. He waved to her. Then as she watched aghast, the ledge beneath his feet crumbled. Now he was swinging free at the end of the rope, a fatal distance from the earth far below. Almost immediately the rope snapped, and he was forced to grab an insubstantial branch extending out into space just above him. _

_From a nest snuggled in a crook of the branch, a small bird appeared, flitting around the dangling man's head. Helplessly Daniel tried to bat the tiny tormenter away with his free hand. _

_Securing her end of the rope to a thick tree trunk nearby, Betty rapidly worked her way back down to her fellow climber and reached out a hand to him. In anguish he cried out, "Betty, you can't save me. You're not strong enough and I'm too heavy." _

"_You're not heavy, Daniel," she replied. "You're my friend. Trust me."_

_His free hand stretched up and clutched hers. The bird whom that hand had been shooing away let out a merry warble, dropped a viscous white deposit on the crown of its victim's head and soared aloft. Now the branch from which Daniel had been hanging pulled free of the cliff side and tumbled downward. _

_Still Betty hung onto him. Her arm muscles strained and ached, but through sheer will she dragged him up foot by foot. Somehow, magically, they soon stood together atop the cliff, wrapped in each other's arms. Daniel whooped, "We did it! We did it together!" Looking down at her, his face became serious. "Actually, you did it. I couldn't have survived that without you, Betty. You are strong." Beaming up at him, she nodded and flexed her bicep. Her boss ran a hand over the small bulge in his savior's arm, eyes popping in admiration. "Betty, don't ever leave me behind again."_

"_There are a lot of mountains I still want to climb, Daniel, and you can come with me if you want. I'll never let you fall. But first, ewww, you really need a shampoo."_

_At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds and, mysteriously, they heard the clang of joyous bells pealing. The clanging quickly resolved itself into a relentless din . . ._

A groggy Betty turned over and felt around on the nightstand for her glasses and then for the insistently ringing phone. A nasal male voice assaulted her ears.

"Good morning. Am I speaking to Ms. Betty Suarez? Ma'am, I am calling to inform you that Renée Slater is being released from Thornbush Psychiatric Facility today. Her physicians say she is no longer a threat to the safety of herself or others and is ready to rejoin the community. However, as one whom she previously threatened with bodily harm, you are entitled to know that she is no longer incarcerated. Have a lovely day, ma'am." Betty heard a click, and realized he had hung up.

"Oh, great! Well, toodle-oo," muttered Betty into the dead phone line.

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The Meade family chauffeur saluted, though with a casualness bordering on insolence, as he held open the door of the limo for Daniel and the slender, sullen beauty who accompanied him. "Take me to Mode, Arthur. On our way, we'll be dropping Elizabeta off at her home on Park Avenue—she'll give you the exact address." While his date instructed the driver, Daniel climbed in beside her.

As the limo swung out into traffic, Daniel spoke without meeting the woman's eyes, which were as bloodshot as his own. Both of them were nursing hangovers. "Well, it was . . . interesting . . . to see you again last night, Elizabeta."

"I was surprised to get your call. It had been such a long time."

"Yes, it had. Anyway, I'm sorry that . . . I mean, I wish things had gone better."

The model moved over to press her body against his and draped her arm around his shoulder. "Don't worry about your little problem, baby," she murmured low. "It's not like it's ever happened with you before. Maybe your parts just need a little fine tuning from expert hands." She lifted her own hand to show off elegant fingers tipped with long, tapered nails. "These hands, for instance, would be happy to try again. Come on in when we get to my place."

Daniel shot a sharp look at the back of Arthur's head and muttered, "Shush, don't talk about that here."

"When, then? I could come over again this evening." As Daniel continued to squirm, the woman tapped on the plastic barrier that separated the passengers from the driver and added, "For heaven's sake, he can't hear you, silly."

"I think he reads lips." Immediately in the rearview mirror a ghost of a smile appeared on Arthur's face, seeming to confirm Daniel's theory. "Actually, Elizabeta, I called yesterday because it seemed to me that you and I had unfinished business to explore. I believe you'll agree that last night pretty much told us where we stand with each other. There's really no point in us keeping this up."

Her eyes flashed vindictively, "Hmph! The trouble last night was _you_ couldn't keep _any_thing up, tiger. What a bore you are. I might as well go in to work."

"That would be novel." He pushed the intercom button. "Never mind Park Avenue, Arthur. Just drive straight to _Mode_."

The woman gave him an irritated slap on the arm. "I wasn't serious. I need to get some rest for this headache you've left me with. Take me home."

Daniel stared out the window morosely. "What the hell am I doing with my life?" He muttered to himself. In the front seat, unobserved by either passenger, Arthur gave an almost imperceptible snort.

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Danny perched on the edge of Betty's desk and glowered as she entered her office carrying a Danish in one hand and balancing a full mug of coffee in the other. Danny was not a morning person.

"Hello, there," she smiled at him. "Lovely to see your bright, shining face here so early. At this hour, though, shouldn't you be with Justin?"

"He was still working on his lesson plan. He said to report to you now and come back in another 30 minutes."

"Good." Seating herself at her desk, Betty broke her Danish in two and handed one half to Danny. "That gives me a chance to ask how things went with Annette yesterday. Did she get you settled in the mailroom? Show you the ropes about opening and sorting and delivering all the letters and packages? Now, why are you making that face?"

"Annette was kind of a drag, actually. I mean, she thinks you're so great, and she won't shut up about it. All she could talk about is the work she's been doing with you and how much you've taught her. It was pretty boring."

"Gee, thanks a lot. How tedious of her."

"And the mailroom—there's nothing to do there. Well, except the mail, of course. Couldn't I have another job?" Betty reached for that old reliable stress reliever, her yellow rubber duck—this was shaping up to be at least a five-squeeze session.

"Sorry if I've failed to sufficiently arrange for your entertainment during your workday." Squeeze! "But mail duty is a great introduction to the company's operations. The mailroom is a hub that ties together all the departments, so I like to rotate every intern through there during their first few weeks at Meade Publishing."

For a moment, Danny glanced quizzically at the duck Betty was clutching, then seemed to dismiss it. "Well, I guess delivering mail wasn't so bad. Annette and I ran into Elise, and I got her to come along with us." Elise was a strikingly pretty young blonde intern.

"And I suppose that's why Elise never showed up for her shift in the filing room where I'd sent her. From now on, leave personnel assignments to me." Squeeze! "If Elise goes AWOL like that again, I'll have to dismiss her."

"Couldn't you just dismiss me? Or at least assign Elise to work with me?"

"Nice try, mister. You're going to have to learn to get along with whomever I put you with. Annette's been here quite awhile now, so she's a good person to help you understand how things work around this place. What's your problem with her, anyway, other than that she likes me?"

"Nothing, only Elise talks about more interesting things."

"Meaning she talks about you, or more likely listens to _you_ talk about you."

"And Elise is so pretty, but Annette—those braces!"

"What's wrong with braces?" Squeeze! "A lot of us have to wear them at some point in our lives." Squeeze-squeeze! "We can't all have your genetically perfect mouthful."

"But they suck to look at, and Annette's are metal, not the nice plastic see-through kind."

"That kind costs more money, Danny. Annette can't afford them. You need to learn not everyone has your privileges."

"Oh, now you're just being defensive because she reminds you of yourself when you were young. I remember when I first met you, _you_ were wearing braces, and I hate to say it, but you looked sorta homely then."

"Yeah, well, I remember when I first met _you_, you were wearing blue eye shadow, and I hate to say it, but you looked sorta precious then."

"Okay, okay. Touché. But can't you just let up on the FBI-style interrogation, please?"

Betty slammed a hand down so hard that her coffee leapt in its mug and a few drops splattered her desk. Startled, the reluctant new intern gaped at her.

"I know you think you're only kidding around, Danny, And you think you can get away with it because you're cute. But your attitude today is really a pain. You should know me well enough by now to realize that being surly is not going to get you out of either your internship or your studies. And I don't think you like yourself very much when you behave like this, am I right? Tell me the truth, aren't you getting tired of acting the spoiled young screw-up? Aren't you ready to grow up and show us a better Danny?"

Danny had the grace to look contrite. "Okay, maybe you're right. I'm sorry, Betty. I didn't mean to be mean."

"But you have to try harder. You know how much I care about you, Danny. I wouldn't bother to push you like this if I didn't believe you were worth it. So please show me that you _are_ worth it." She took a sip of coffee to steady herself. "Now, isn't it time you headed off to meet Justin?"

"Oh, that's another thing—about Justin . . ."

Betty rose from her seat and turned her back so Danny wouldn't see her torturing her duck: Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze-squeeze-squeeze-squeeze-squeeze!

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Two of the Meade triumvirate lounged in the Mode Editor's office, waiting for the third—Alex—to arrive.

"You're wrong, Mother. I know I was exhausted when you saw me here yesterday, but this morning is different. It's not that I'm overworked. What happened was I had a late date last night, and we just sat around my place and finished off a liter and a half of Johnny Walker Green. We ended up passed out together."

"Hmph, you sound like a fun date. Was she anyone I know? More to the point, was she anyone you know?"

"You remember Elizabeta? . . ." Claire made a sour face. ". . .Yeah, I can see you do."

"I thought she was long gone, and good riddance."

"Well, she'll be long gone now, I'm sure. After all that booze, I couldn't . . ." Daniel shook his head.

His mother raised her eyebrows in a question.

"Okay, I couldn't satisfy her."

"Whoa, too much information. Anyway, what made you call her? And why did you feel the need to get sloshed?"

"I don't know, I was just feeling really down, really depressed. This photographers' strike . . ."

"I thought you told me Cliff had things under control."

Daniel shrugged. "Oh, I guess he does."

"I'm sure it will be over soon. Just wait it out. Anyway, I don't believe the strike's what has your hands shaking and your eyes all bloodshot today. Come on, what's this really about?"

"It's this office."

Claire's eyes swept around the office, bewildered. "What about it?"

"The idea of coming in here, being in here . . . working . . . Betty not around . . ."

Claire mouth formed a silent O.

"Mother, I know I should be happy for her. I know I'm a jerk, but you see she's been here right from the start. At least from when things started happening for _me_. She was the main reason things did start happening for me. It's just hard to imagine functioning without her. It's hard to imagine even starting a day without her around here somewhere."

"Now, wait. She wasn't always here, was she? There was that period when she was over at _MYW_, working for Sofia Reyes."

"Yeah, and I couldn't wait to get her back. But it's worse now. She's striking out on her own, and this time she's not coming back"

Claire locked eyes with her son. "Daniel, tell me—have you fallen in love with Betty?"

"What? No, that's not what this is about. You can miss somebody without . . . She's just, she's Betty, you know. She's great. That doesn't mean . . ." Daniel leaned back in his chair, wrinkling his forehead and closing his eyes. Claire waited for him to continue, and finally he did. "But, you know, maybe . . . maybe me calling Elizabeta _was_ about trying to remind myself what I really want in a woman. Or at least what I thought I wanted. Once she actually got there . . " Daniel's eyes were open wide now, surprised by his own self-revelation. "I think part of what the booze was for, was to keep me from . . . it was insurance, you know, so that I _couldn't_ perform, wouldn't _have_ to . . ."

Claire clapped her hands over her ears. "Son, what did I tell you? Information overload!"

"Loving a woman, that's always meant to me wanting to jump her bones. And that's not something I feel for Betty. I don't want to grab her. It's more a feeling of wanting to take care of her, and make everything right for her. I guess I want to be her hero in some way, so she'll look up to me. And not want to walk out the door and abandon me."

"You've always been fond of her, I know that. But, of course, you know she doesn't _look_ like any girl you've dated . . ."

"Good god, no! She's not gorgeous, not at all. Elizabeta's gorgeous. In fact, every woman I've ever been involved with was gorgeous. Betty, the way she's put together—well," he wrinkled his nose, "it's kind of odd and offbeat. But you know, now that I think about it, what she really is, is adorable."

Claire bowed her head a moment in thought. "You're my son. And Betty's like a daughter to me. For the two of you to wind up together—it's more than I could ever hope for. But be careful. If you were to make a move and it went badly, you could lose the strong bond that exists between the two of you now. You have a lot to think about, Daniel. . . . Hey, I believe I hear Alex coming."

"Uh-oh. You don't think she'll notice what a mess I am today, will she?"

"What do _you_ think? Your sister's lost some interesting parts of her anatomy, but her eyes and ears are still intact."

Alex strode into the room, glanced absently at her brother, and then found her gaze pulled back to him for a closer examination. Her eyes widened and she threw an anxious, inquisitive look at her mother. "Everything all right here?"

"Everything's fine. Or will be. Your brother's just been losing a bit of sleep over the photographer situation at _Mode_."

Alex arched an eyebrow skeptically, but moved on. "Okay, then, let's get started. I've got Betty Suarez penciled in to make her presentation to the company Directors a week from today. As we discussed, I feel pretty secure this project will sail through with Board approval but, Mother, can you start working with her to make sure everything's coming together smoothly? Her magazine shows promise, so use your guidance to see to it she's in top form for this meeting. Now, next on the agenda . . ."

Daniel, who had appeared dazed and distracted since his sister's entrance, suddenly emerged from his stupor. "Wait, Alex, Mother, I need to tell you something. It almost slipped my mind, but the state police called this morning to alert me that Renée Slater's been released from psychiatric detention. They say her doctors believe she's no danger to anyone now, but I just thought you should know."

"So yet another of your unfortunate romances coming home to roost, brother dear. Has it occurred to you that maybe it's high time you started seeing a completely different type of woman?"


	5. Almost Doesn't Count

Chapter 5

~ Almost Doesn't Count ~

Betty completed her presentation, turned and beamed at her audience of one. She was proud of what she had put together, and it surprised her to see Claire's brow puckered with worry.

"Betty, first let me say that it's clear you've worked very hard preparing your talk over these last four days. The visuals you and Annette put together are sharp and informative as well as eye-pleasing. You've done an excellent job of conveying in depth what the _Cuisine_ experience will be like for your readers. What you have here is the core of a good argument to potential advertisers on the value of associating themselves with your publication."

"But there won't be any advertisers at the Board of Directors meeting, will there?"

"My point exactly! The pitch to them will come at a meeting later on, and obviously you'll be ready for it. On the other hand, the Board's main concern is going to be not your readers, but the Meade shareholders. What kind of return are investors going to get from this venture? Will it be profitable? The three topics they'll mainly want to hear about will be costs, circulation and advertising sales. I know you've had research carried out in all those areas, yet the talk you just gave barely mentioned any of them."

Meade's newest Editor felt sick to her stomach. Four days' work down the drain. It was true she had made a diligent effort to get circulation projections from Meade's marketing department, and she had also had the sales department interview a sample of prospective ad-buyers to gauge their interest. Those data were in her proposal, along with a budget. But, because marketing and ad sales were other people's areas of expertise, she had not bothered to memorize the findings. After all, presumably her sphere would be working with writers, creating and enforcing an editorial policy, and overseeing the look and layout of her publication.

"Omigod, what if they ask me things I can't answer?"

"Well, you've got three days to see to it that there _isn't_ very much you can't answer. You need to know the assumptions which underlie the statisticians' circulation projections. You need to know what pricing scheme seems optimal. You need to know about start up costs, material costs, distribution costs, et cetera. Also, what publications already out there are will be targeting the same readership and advertisers? What are your plans to keep your own product competitive?"

"I only have three days left!"

Betty's mentor could hear the alarm rising in her young colleague's high-pitched yelp.

"My dear, you can do it. Three days is more than enough time if you don't waste it working yourself into a state of panic. I'm going to use the rest of the afternoon to produce a list of questions you need to be prepared to respond to. You can take the list home with you tonight. First, determine which answers you already know, and then spend the next couple days learning the answers you don't."

"Oh, thank goodness, thank you. And you'll be at the meeting to help me, too, won't you?"

"Of course. No need to fret, I'm an old hand at these affairs. And in those cases where I can't give the Board all they want, I also know a bit about bluffing and intimidating them into submission. I can be a bit scary when I want to be, actually."

Betty began to relax enough to allow a small chuckle to escape. "Ah, yes, my sister's like that, too. Unfortunately, it's a skill I haven't picked up yet, so you'll have to teach it to me. Hilda's technique relies heavily on well sharpened fingernails, but I imagine yours is more subtle?"

"Don't worry, Betty, I have all kinds of tricks in my repertoire that I plan to share with you. But, you know what? You've been slaving away at this presentation non-stop around the clock, and I'll bet you're dog-tired. While I make my list, go do something soothing to take your mind off the job for a couple of hours. I know! Get yourself a manicure downstairs, my treat! In fact I'll throw in a pedicure and foot massage, too. Now, beat it!"

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A genial young Vietnamese manicurist pushed forward a rack holding a colorful array of nail polish bottles, soliciting a choice from her perplexed client. Betty, who normally protected her nails with a transparent coating that allowed their natural pink to shine through, wanted to make a selection which would show her off to the Meade Board as a woman of flair. But despite her long tenure at _Mode_, she knew nothing about current trends in cosmetics. She decided the safest course was to pick a vivid red to match her glasses. "When in doubt, go bright" was her motto.

Soon, her nails aflame with a gaudy vermilion, Betty found herself ushered into the back chamber of the salon. The pedicurist settled her into a plush chair, immersed her feet in a flowery-smelling footbath, and left her to luxuriate in its pleasant warmth. As a recording of calming, vaguely exotic music lilted through the air, worries about her upcoming ordeal faded and her thoughts floated without focus.

Slowly the daydreamer became aware that a years-old image from the very room she now occupied was insinuating itself into her mind's eye. Oh well, it was understandable that this particular setting would offer an opening to a memory she had tried for so long to suppress. Recollections of that time—an era when the ambient aroma in here derived from salami rather than perfumed bath oils—seemed to materialize with regularity of late. At least, this was a happy memory, for a change. Her weary brain might as well let it enter . . . .

_On a clear Spring Saturday morning, Betty hesitated outside the delicatessen door, summoning the gumption to go inside. That day she was taking a new step forward in her career. The envelope she clutched in her hands contained a draft for an article slated soon to appear in a women's glossy monthly with nationwide distribution. Yesterday, she had been just somebody's assistant. Today she was a professional author. Although it was the weekend, she was on her way to her office to drop off her manuscript with Claire Meade, whose deadline for __Hot Flash__'s first issue was looming._

_However, before she headed off to meet her Editor, the newly anointed columnist had another errand which could not wait, for the previous day had brought unsettling developments in her personal as well as professional life. Those developments had revolved around one man who, she knew, could be found just beyond this door. His very nearness filled her with both discomfort and dizzy anticipation. "Steady, woman," she told herself and pushed through the entrance into the shop._

_The deli owner Gio Rossi was standing at the counter, placing sandwiches into a large paper bag and reading off the prices to his Saturday helper Linus—a bony high school kid with long, stringy blond hair—who was operating the cash register. As Betty entered, Gio glanced up and inhaled sharply. A quick smile punctuated by dimples lit up his face._

"_Betty, I didn't know you'd be coming in today. See who's here, Linus, it's The Writer!"_

_Linus, who had been acquainted with their caller for some time now, looked puzzled. "I thought she was The Eater."_

"_Hey, show some respect!" Gio affably whacked the side of his assistant's head with the heel of his palm. He turned back to Betty, "What's that you're holding—a present for me?"_

"_No, silly, it's my article on the youth perspective. It took me almost all night to write it."_

_His eyebrows went up in mock surprise. "All night? I didn't think it was supposed to be such a long article."_

"_No, no, it's not, but I had a hard time keeping my mind on my writing." Betty stared at the floor and rubbed one foot against the other. "You see, I was at a dance yesterday evening, and somebody said something. . . ."_

_Gio turned abruptly to his employee, "Linus, you've got to get lost. I'm going to be closing up shop for awhile."_

"_B-but my job—I need the hours. And I'm not through ringing up this . . ."_

"_I'll pay you time and a half __not__ to be here for the next hour or so. Let's see, you can go deliver this bag of sandwiches and say they're on the house today. Then I'm sure you can find something to keep you amused out there. Just be back at 10:30 to set up for the lunch crowd."_

"_Okay, I suppose." As Linus ambled toward the exit, his boss followed behind and gave him a firm shove out the door, which he then pressed shut, reversing the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED" and turning the deadbolt._

"_So . . . ?"_

"_So, I need to talk to you," said his visitor._

"_Shall we sit?" Gio pointed to a table next to the front window with the smiling pickle and started removing his apron. _

_Betty seated herself in one of the two chairs at the table. She expected Gio to sit in the other chair across from her, but instead he lifted and planted it right beside hers. Lowering himself into it, he moved his face to within inches of her own. His gaze was intense, eager. "All right, let's talk." _

"_Gio, you're too close, I can't think." Her eyes shifted to the side to escape his stare, but looking back a moment later, she found his eyes still fixed on her and a grin spreading across his face. _

"_What, Betty, am I distracting you again? I'd say that's a good sign for me."_

"_Please stop."_

"_Stop what? What am I doing?" _

"_You know what you're doing. You're driving me crazy."_

"_And I haven't even touched you. __Damn__, you must like me!" By now, he was on fire, caught up in his own teasing. _

_In an instant Betty recalled the Gio of the morning before. If that Gio had been gleeful and cocky, the one who faced her now seemed ten times as buoyant, as though at any moment he might float merrily up to the ceiling with those shining eyes of his. And why not? The previous evening, at her front gate, he had at long last unburdened himself of a truth that had been weighing on him for months—the simple truth that he wanted her. He wanted her not just for a date or a fling, not just to steal a few impudent kisses, or to dance with his body pressed tight against hers. No, he wanted more. He wanted them to belong to each other. "I don't want to be the rebound guy. I want to be the __guy__." _

_His declaration had come as a shock, of course, but then again, not really. If she had been caught off guard, she realized, it was only because she had been willfully closing her eyes to what should have been obvious ages ago. Jealous Henry had known what was going on with Gio: "That guy's always around." Amanda, for whatever motives, had warned her, too: "Gio's got a crush on you." But she had brushed their words aside. If her friend flirted with her outrageously, well, that was just his nature—the man was a horndog! Or at least thinking so made her feel safer._

_But finally, yesterday, there could be no more fooling herself, not after that kiss. The kiss that had come in a flash from out of nowhere. The kiss that had left her trembling. The kiss that had forced her to slap the man who bestowed it for making her have those sensations, for making her emit that humiliating little moan, for making her want him, too. Then in the school gym, when they had danced, he had drawn her to him and there again were those lips, so near, so tantalizing, so impossible to ignore. After months of holding himself in check, suddenly he was breaching all her boundaries, physical and emotional, leaving her feeling helpless and poised to run. _

_And now here alone with her on his own turf, he was at it again, challenging her, arousing her and setting her on edge. She withdrew into her chair, pulling her body as far back from him as she could. "Stop smiling like that! Stop making me nervous! Umph, stop being so . . ." she glared at him in annoyance ". . . so Gio-ey!"_

_Her tormenter frowned. "You? You say __you're__ nervous? What about me?" His eyes flashing, he placed his right hand on his chest. "Betty, you've got my heart beating a mile a minute. I can hardly breathe, for God's sake!" His voice was hoarse and urgent. "If you're a little nervous, too, well, good, I'm glad, because it's only fair. At least I've finally made you feel something." _

_His fervor took Betty by surprise. "Gio, what you told me last night—is it true that you really want to be with me?"_

"_Yes." _

"_And yet you don't want to date me?"_

"_Not want . . . ? What do you mean? I'm __dying__ to date you. I've wanted to for so long. You with Henry—what a waste!"_

"_But last night you said . . ."_

"_Ah, yes, last night," he nodded. "Let me be clear. I don't want you making me your substitute for Henry. I don't want to be used and then thrown away once you're over missing him. If you're seeing me, it's got to be because you're thinking of __me__. My heart's on the line here, Suarez." Betty saw his Adam's apple bob, as he swallowed hard. "You and I have to be honest with each other, or it's no good."_

_They sat for awhile not talking at all._

_Finally, a little exasperated, Gio spoke again. "So what do you say? Do you want to give us a chance?"_

_Betty looked down at her hands. "I don't know if I'm ready! I think it's too soon. This last experience—Henry—really hurt me, hurt me to my soul." But even as that answer fell from her lips, somewhere inside her a little voice chastened her, murmuring, Maybe you should just . . . be. After a moment she lifted her eyes to his, to those warm brown eyes she couldn't resist. "Gio, if I do say yes to you, we have to go slow, and I mean baby steps. Can you accept that?"_

"_As slow as you want, B, as long as we're heading in the right direction." He took one of her hands gently in one of his own. At that moment he reminded her of another Gio from the day before, so different from the one who had grabbed her in the deli. This was the Gio who had sat with her on the stairs and let her pour out her heart and listened and not pushed. This Gio was sweet and wise and beautiful and she feared him not at all. Moved by his touch, she gave his hand a tender squeeze and caressed the back of his fingers with her thumb._

_A smile danced on her companion's lips as he tilted his face towards hers. Suddenly Betty realized what his intention was. Her eyes widened, and she pushed him away. "No, don't!"_

_He drew back, crushed. "Betty, what's wrong? I wasn't trying to be fresh. I just thought . . ."_

"_It's not you. It's the window. Anyone can see us!"_

_Gio glanced out at the few stray passers-by, none of whom seemed to be taking notice of the little tableau behind the pickle window. He shook his head. "Nobody's watching, Betty. Nobody cares."_

"_But we can't be sure. Oh, but you don't know! Yesterday when you kissed me here, Marc was outside. He took a picture of us with his phone, and he and Amanda emailed it to everyone at my office. Not just the picture, either! They added little blurbs that said, 'Guess who ordered the tongue at Gio's Deli?' and 'Betty Whorez is out of control!'"_

_Disconcertingly, her companion—far from sharing her chagrin—erupted into laughter and pointed a finger at her. "See? Even Marc and Amanda agree that you frenched me!"_

"_It wasn't funny." This was infuriating._

"_Oh, you know what's going to be funny? When we get our revenge!" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively._

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Sweet revenge! You just wait, Betty. Be-leeeve me, it's going to be gu-ud." The contemplation of this mysterious revenge apparently filled him with delight, for he continued to chortle. Finally, she caught his eye. "But, you're right, B, I can see we need a little more privacy."_

_Gio stood, held his hand out to Betty and drew her around behind the counter and through the curtain leading into his back room. Just inside the door, he turned and, putting his hands on each side of her waist, he backed her up against the wall. _

"_Okay, now I'm going to kiss you, very respectfully . . ." his right hand circled and lifted her left wrist to shoulder level, ". . . and there's not going to be . . ." his left hand raised her right wrist ". . . any slapping." He laced his fingers through hers, holding each hand in place and leaned his face in. She closed her eyes expectantly and felt his warm breath on her lips. But then . . . nothing. Her eyes flew open to see that he had pulled back, biting his lip, and seemed to be contemplating her with concern. "Betty, I'm sorry. It just seemed like maybe you weren't ready yet."_

"_No, I'm fine. It's all right, Gio." _

_After regarding her affectionately for a moment, he bent his head until his forehead rested on hers. Again, she closed her eyes, and this time felt his lips brush lightly against hers, but then again he was gone._

"_Gio?"_

_This time a ghost of a smile illuminated his face. "Just taking it slow, B. I think we agreed on that." Then, placing his lips near her ear, he whispered, "Baby steps."_

_At that, Betty wrenched her hands free of his and pounded on his chest in aggravation._

_He grabbed her elbows. "Whoa, I told you, Betty, not with the hitting again."_

"_You got it!" Taking his face in both her hands she drew it down to hers and kissed him emphatically, making a point of driving her tongue well inside his mouth. A surprised but satisfied growl rumbled from deep inside him. His arms slipped around her—one encircling her waist and the other her shoulders--pulling her into a vice-like embrace. She ran one hand after the other down the back of his head, loving the sensation the stubble of his buzz cut made against her skin. Their tongues were dueling now in total abandon. Every inch of her was tingling._

"_Hey, what the . . . ?"_

_Betty and Gio leapt apart and looked up to see Linus lifting the curtain at the entrance to the room, his mouth agape. "I-I couldn't find anything to do. I didn't see anyone in the shop, so I used my key to get back in. Oh, wow! Oh, wow!"_

_Betty's eyes shot to Gio's face. In horror, she wondered if hers was flushed as red as his. Struggling to regain her dignity, Betty pushed past the intruder in the doorway and hurried to gather up her manuscript. Not meeting Gio's eyes, she began to ramble, "Um, did I mention? Daniel's paying me extra to work evenings and weekends for his mother. She needs help getting __Hot Flash__ ready to go to press. I think it's going to be for a couple months. So, anyway, I better hit the road."_

_Gio followed her out to the sidewalk. "Wait! With that schedule, when will I ever see you?"_

_She stopped, considering. "It will have to be breakfasts, I suppose, will that work for you? Maybe seeing each other mostly in public will be best for now, anyway. But it can be every day if you want. And maybe sometimes I can put off eating my midday meal for a couple hours, so we can catch a late lunch, too, after your noon rush." _

"_Are you coming in to work on Sunday? Can you be here for breakfast tomorrow?" _

"_No, we'll have to start Monday. Tomorrow I'm going to church with Papi."_

_His eyes twinkling, Gio lowered his voice. "Good thing, young lady. After that kiss, you __better__ go to church."_

. . . And thus it began, mused Betty, glancing at the spot by the wall where Gio had held her. It sure seemed like we were starting something good that day. Who knew it would end so soon and so sadly?

The masseuse entered and approached her client, her eyes following Betty's gaze towards the wall. "Gee, did you notice it, too, Ms. Suarez? This place has a strange vibe, especially over by the door. Sometimes I think it's haunted here, or maybe it's just some _feng shui_ thing. Anyway, I stopped in a few minutes ago, but you seemed lost in thought, so I let you have a bit of extra time. Are you ready for your foot massage now?"

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Down time for Betty meant a respite from labor for Annette, as well. Alone among the high school-level interns she had her own cubicle at Meade, but not because Betty had finagled it for her. Her recent assignments had primarily involved assisting certain Art Department personnel who had volunteered to help with graphics, photography and layout for the _Cuisine_ dummy issue. So impressed were these staff with the young girl's talent, work ethic and hunger to learn that they had eventually cleared a workspace for her within their own area.

This week, Betty had asked only that her assistant "help"—meaning keep an eye on—Danny in the mailroom, and otherwise that she be on call for any last minute tweaking required for the presentation to the Directors. Beyond that, her supervisor told her to feel free to amuse herself as she wished. So when the intern arrived after school that day with time to spare, she dug out her art supplies and extracted some water color pigment and a sheet of paper.

If photography was Annette's chosen vocation, painting was the avocation that afforded her the freedom to play and to fantasize. It would be hard to choose which of the two media she loved better. However, when it came to fun with painting, nothing delighted her more than dabbling with a half-pigment, half-water solution, exploring the endless effects of washing, spraying, drizzling or spattering it over a dry or pre-dampened sheet of paper.

"Hey, that's really pretty!"

So engrossed had the young artist been with creating a pattern in blue-green which evoked a flowery twig floating on a lake's surface, that she had been unaware of Danny Meade approaching her cubicle. Now she blushed with pleasure at his words of praise.

"So is that like what you do for Betty?" he asked.

"Not this, but most of the jobs she gives me are art-related in some way."

"So you're an artist. I didn't know." Infatuated though she was, Annette found Danny's statement irritating. Hadn't she spent considerable time chatting with him about her work for Betty? Didn't he pay any attention at all?

"Yes. That's why I took this internship, even though it doesn't pay anything. Someday I want to work in magazines, and I'm learning a lot here."

"Well, I know you do photography, but if you can paint something like that," he pointed at her spatter-piece, "why bother just being a camera-jockey?" With this, Danny earned a few points back for having listened after all, despite seeming to imply that professional photography entailed no more than pointing at objects and clicking.

"Why can't I have both? I mean, painting will always be part of my life, but I'll need a steady paycheck after I graduate from art school. Taking pictures for a magazine will bring me that plus a world of exciting challenges. It's all in my 5-year plan," she added with self-conscious pride.

"Plan? Hmmm, that's a long time—I hope I still know you then. You might be famous one day."

A thrilling little shiver passed over Annette. Here was the object of all her daydreams not only expressing admiration for her but saying he hoped to still know her in five years. Maybe today would be a turning point in their acquaintanceship. Maybe it would be a day they'd always remember.

"Danny, did you come to get me to help with the mail," she inquired shyly, "or was there something else you wanted?"

Riveting her with the full potency of his beautiful French eyes, her visitor cleared his throat. "Actually, there is something. Since Betty's not around today and probably not caring much about what's happening in the mailroom, I wondered if you'd do me a favor?"

"A favor like what?"

"Okay, now you're looking all suspicious, but it's nothing, really. I just thought maybe you could cover for me—do the mail yourself, I mean—just for today. So I could have a little time off."

Annette felt her heart sinking. "Ms. Suarez has been good to me. What makes you think I'd lie to her?"

"But it's just for one day! And we're friends, too, aren't we?"

"Sure, now that you want something from me."

"You're not being fair," Danny pouted. "Besides, I'm willing to pay you. I know for a fact you could use the money."

"And now I know who _you_ really are." Her eyes flashed, but her voice was icy cold.

" Come on, you're making such a big deal of this. Damn it, I told Elise . . ."

Annette swung her chair around to conceal the tears of disappointment amassing in her eyes. "It seems I remember that sneaking off with a girl was how you got in trouble in the first place. If you've learned nothing from experience, then you must be really stupid. I'm going to be down to help in the mailroom in awhile, but don't even think of not being there, too."

"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" A plump, gentle-eyed fellow in a crumpled sports jacket shot a look of concern from one teenager to the other.

"No, she's all yours, Cliff" grumbled Danny, showing his back to the two other people present. "Believe me, I'm done with her."


	6. Fix You

Chapter 6

~ Fix You ~

The Creative Director of _Mode_ magazine eyed the pixie-faced young girl with sympathy. He himself had once been a shy teen with a crush on a popular, dazzlingly handsome boy who would likely never take a moment's interest in him, and he recognized a fellow sufferer when he saw one. "Hi, I'm Cliff St. Paul. Are you Annette Bretonne?"

The girl nodded, not daring to speak until she could steady her voice.

"I was sure that's who you were. You and Danny are the two most high-profile interns we have right now. You, because word is out that you're a kind of art prodigy. Danny because of his lineage, and not because he's achieved much of anything in his pampered young life."

Annette reached for a tissue to blow her nose, allowing her time to consider Cliff's words. "People talk about me, Mr. St. Paul?"

"In glowing terms, my dear. Betty Suarez has told me about the great job you've done for her, and you've also caught the attention of a number of other folks here. If that piece there is typical of your talent, I can see why. Look, I know you're on my calendar for tomorrow, but I'm going to be away on a location shoot all day, so I tracked you down to see if we can talk today instead. Do you have some time now?"

"Well, I'm supposed to go help Danny with the mail, but I'm hoping a plague of frogs will attack the mailroom and devour him before I can get there. So yes, let's talk. I'll just be a little late."

Cliff grinned broadly. "I like your attitude. So you're interested in a career in magazines, Betty tells me. Do you have more of your creations here I can look at?"

Annette opened the deep bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a thick portfolio.

"Goodness, watercolors, oils, charcoal sketches, pen-and-ink, pastels. Quite an extensive collection. Have you had a lot of lessons?"

"Just some extra help from my school art teacher. And I've read a lot of books on technique and composition."

"Betty says you want to do photography, though. But I don't see any of that here. Is that something you're planning to learn in the future?

"Not exactly." Annette dragged another fat portfolio from the drawer. Cliff leafed through this one more slowly, stopping to scrutinize several samples closely.

"These effects weren't achieved with a digital camera."

"No, there are some digital shots at the back, but those there were done with an old Olympus my grandpa gave me. He was an army photographer, and he's the one who taught me to find my way around a darkroom."

Cliff laughed. "You know, most kids your age need help starting to build up a portfolio so they can eventually make a decent professional showing. It's rare to meet one who needs help paring theirs down. You have remarkable stuff here, but it could do with some weeding out to spotlight key examples of your accomplishments. I'd love to help with that. Now let's talk about career plans."

"Okay, I've been trying to determine what steps I should take over the next five years . . ." The young artist chatted away happily with Cliff for the next half hour, all thought of her unrequited romantic longing banished to the back of her brain.

"Annette, this has been a pleasure. Let's plan to have more talks, shall we? But before I go, I hope you won't mind a word about Danny Meade. I've known the kid four years now, and I'm somewhat fond of him. I certainly care about his father and grandmother. But he's years behind you in maturity, and his main achievements so far in life have been negative ones. Now, his mother did die and he was uprooted to live in a new country and learn a new language, which accounts for a lot. However, please keep in mind that you're a really special person, and to open your heart to somebody who can't appreciate that would be a mistake. I have some experience with that sort of situation myself."

"When you were my age?"

"Yes, and even more recently. I don't know you well and wouldn't normally confide in you, but I'd hate to see you hurt and maybe this will help. I've been involved off and on for years with a _Mode_ co-worker."

"Are you off or on right now with her?"

"Um, it's a him, actually. You do know about . . . ?"

"Gay people, sure."

"Marc is one of those guys who has a devil and angel living on his two shoulders. I've seen him do some very lovely things, but unfortunately he listens much too much to his own private devil—who's name is Willi, by the way—and she has led him to do a lot of things he shouldn't have. Anyway, for a long time he treated me rather badly because I didn't fit his image of the type of partner he should be with. I'm sorry to say I let him cause me a lot of pain. But I finally concluded that it was wrong to give him so much power over my emotions. Once I broke it off, my life became simpler and happier, even though I still love him."

"Do you think you'll ever get back together?"

"He'd have to prove to me that he's freed himself from Willi's influence, and frankly I don't think that's something he can ever do. Too bad, because he is pretty adorable."

"So his angel hopped off his shoulder, and now he just has the devil," mused his listener. "Does he still work here? Do you still have to see him around all the time?"

"No, he's now Deputy Commissioner of Culture for the city, which does make things easier. I know you have to see Danny every day, but if he's giving you a bad time, learn to put him out of your mind. Sweetheart, he's a skirt chaser, comes by it naturally, and I expect it will be a long time—if ever—before he's ready to settle with just one girl. My advice is focus on other things and don't let him break your heart. Now let's keep this conversation just between us, okay?"

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"Dad, can I talk to you? I need to tell you something."

Engrossed in work, Daniel looked up, startled by the unexpected appearance of his son at his office door. "What's this, are you done in the mailroom already?" He glanced at his watch. "Oh, it's almost supper time. I didn't realize. What's up?"

"I have to tell you I did something bad today. There's this girl Elise . . . "

Daniel closed his eyes wearily. "Oh no, not again. Already? You've only been grounded for a few days now. I know sixteen is prime time for raging hormones in a boy's life, but even I didn't have as much trouble keeping it zipped at that age as you seem to be having. Tell me you didn't already seduce her."

"No, that's not it. But she works here and she's pretty and I hardly ever get to see her."

"I think the whole point of your internship was to keep you away from temptation and focused on doing something productive for a change. Well, thank goodness at least that you're not deflowering tender young interns under our care, but what exactly are you confessing to?"

"Dad, there's no good reason for me to be working in the mailroom. I mean, I'm never going to be a postman, after all. It's boring, and anyone could do it. And since Betty's not around now, I just tried to get this other intern to sneak and cover for me for one afternoon. But she wouldn't."

"I'm glad you're being honest and telling me. Since, frankly, that's unlike you, can I ask why?"

"Annette—that's the other intern—is sure to tattle on me to Betty, who'd just come running to tell you anyway. I think she's just jealous because of Elise. Oh, and she's also crazy about Betty and thinks she's so-o-o wonderful, so she'll feel she has to let her know everything."

"What's this? You make it sound like Annette thinks Betty is wonderful, but you don't. I thought you loved Betty."

"She's been okay. But it's not like she's anything special. I haven't even seen her since she started working on her new job. So fine, who needs her?"

"Danny, Betty has a very important talk to give and she's been closeted away getting ready for it. She hasn't seen much of anybody lately, me included. Are you afraid that she doesn't care about you? That she's going to cut you out of her life just because she's no longer my assistant?"

"Afraid? No, why would I mind what she does? But that would make sense, wouldn't it? I mean, she doesn't need to be nice to me to get paid any more."

"Well, that's true. I guess you know Betty pretty well after four years. You've undoubtedly noticed how she never takes an interest in somebody unless there's money in it for her. For instance, you saw how she refused to spend her own unpaid hours with a young boy who had no friends, because he was alone in a new country and could hardly speak English. You probably remember when you injured your elbow, how she couldn't be bothered to take you to the hospital and hammer the doctors for information until they set her mind at rest you'd be okay. And all the times I've despaired over your screw-ups, wow, it's cost me a fortune to get her to remind me of your finer points and tell me you'd turn out all right, because you're basically a good kid."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that stuff." Danny looked around wildly, trying to find a surreptitious way to wipe away the hot tears forming in his eyes before they became obvious to his father. "You know I really do love Betty. But it just feels like everything's changing. People are expecting so much more of me."

"Changes, expectations—that's what growing up is about, son. You'll have to learn to embrace it, because that's the way it's going to be from now on. Now, tell me, this girl—she's apparently someone special to you?"

"Someone special? Oh, you mean Elise? Well, she's pretty. That doesn't mean I want to marry her or anything. I'm only sixteen."

"Yeah," his father smiled ruefully, "that's a great excuse for now. It won't work so well on women after you're out of college, though, so you better think of a new one by then. Anyway, it sounds like this lapse of yours wasn't really about Elise after all, but maybe more about Betty? And what about this other intern Annette? Another young girl, of course, God help us."

"Oh, no worries there. She wears braces on her teeth," the young Lothario reassured his father.

"Ah, but you implied there might be a bit of a crush on her part?"

"I'm pretty sure there was. But not any more, I don't think. When she wouldn't help out and lie for me, I guess I said some pretty mean things to her. I was going to smooth things over with her when she came down to help me in the mailroom, but then she didn't show up. Damn!"

"Why did you say mean things?"

"It wasn't exactly that I wanted to hurt her or make her cry. I-I guess I was trying to bully her into doing what I wanted. I know I shouldn't be like that. I hate myself sometimes. What's wrong with me?" Suddenly the boy's flawless face was twisted and red with shame.

Eying his offspring tenderly, Daniel walked over, placed a paternal arm around his shoulder and guided him over to sit near the window, then pulled up another chair beside him. "Did I ever tell you how Betty came to work for me?"

"No."

"Well, you're a girl-crazy little bastard, but you have the excuse that you inherited that from your old man. You see, just because I was born a Meade your grandfather decided to hand this whole magazine to me," he gestured out at the plaza in front of the Meade Publications building, now illuminated by evening spotlights. "It was a great opportunity for learning, but unfortunately I saw it mainly as an opportunity for bagging women. I'd been having my way with a string of office assistants around here, and after he made me Editor-in-Chief, my father decided to hire me a helper who I'd never think of bedding. Then he saw Betty and no doubt thought, 'Well, no worries there. She wears braces.'" At this, he poked his son in the ribs and raised a gently mocking eyebrow. "Of course, I was not happy to have the door to my playpen slammed shut."

"Of course."

"Unfortunately, a so-called friend of mine came up with an idea to rid me of the hideous scourge that was Betty. I'd simply make the job so unpleasant she'd have to quit. I wish I could say I limited my tactics to saying a few mean things, but it was much worse. I pretended to be giving her serious assignments when really I threw task after task at her designed specifically to open her to ridicule and humiliation in front of the whole company. This brave, sweet young woman, who was just trying to get a foothold here and start a career and support her family."

"You did that to Betty?" Danny stared at Daniel in horror. "What happened?"

"Eventually, I couldn't live with myself. By that time, she had finally given up and quit, and I had to go beg her forgiveness and plead with her to return. And then she did something unbelievably kind. I was in a bind and she let me pass off an idea she'd come up with as one of my own. Frankly, it saved my bacon."

"Dad, I'm sorry, but I just want to punch you out right now for treating Betty that way."

"I don't blame you, but just remember that thought the next time you're tempted to do something hateful to somebody like Annette. I'll have live with the memory of what I did to Betty forever and, believe me, I wouldn't wish that on you."

"I _will_ remember that." Danny rose to his feet. "So why are you here so late? Do you still have work to do?"

"Sure. We haven't hired Betty's replacement yet, and it's a pretty overwhelming tackling everything by myself. Man, what a difference that woman made. But, you know, keeping busy actually helps me feel better." Replying to the implied question in Danny's expression, he added, "What, you think you're the only one with separation anxiety? You know, I've been aware all along how important Betty has been to me as a friend, a helper. But it never completely hit me until she left how much I care about her. I guess I'll get used to it, but right now—I just can't tell you how much I miss her."

"Too bad she's not one of that other kind of assistant you used to have. Then you could just marry her and keep her."

"Yeah," Daniel nodded as his son headed out the door. Once alone, he glanced absently out the window again. Funny, he thought, the only thing that still shocks me about that idea seems to be how little it shocks me.

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When the phone rang, Ignacio was serving himself up a dish of chili—spicy, just the way he liked it, even if it was no longer to his intestines' liking.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ignacio, it's Claire Meade. I hope I'm not catching you just sitting down to eat."

"Oh, no," he lied, unaware that he had straightened his posture and was now running his hand through his hair like a comb, as if trying to put on his best appearance for the benefit of his kitchen's four walls. "I'm actually finishing up my supper—chili, my own recipe."

"Mmmm, I can almost smell it through the phone—delicious, I'm sure. I hope I get the pleasure of tasting it sometime."

"I don't know, Mrs. Meade, I love it, but it does keep me up nights. It might not agree with you, either."

"Uh, thanks for the warning. And once again, I see I have to remind you to call me Claire," she reproached amiably.

"I'm sorry—Claire—how can I serve you this evening?"

"I just wanted to chat a little about Betty. I assume you know about her—our—new magazine?"

"She told me, yes. I'm very proud of her."

"And did she tell you about her presentation for the Board of Directors in three days?"

"A little bit. I didn't really follow. . . . Why, is something wrong?"

"Not at all. Of course, it's a lot of work getting ready, and there have been a few road bumps along the way. I was expecting that, but I don't know that she was. It's pretty new to her. I guess part of my reason for calling was just to alert you that she could use some special family support and attention right now. She's more than a little nervous, and I'm worried she's going to panic, when actually there's no reason to. We all need to remind her how capable she is and how much faith we have in her."

"Yes, I always try to do that with my girls, but I appreciate you filling me in, Claire. I know you've been very good to her. You said, '_part_ of your reason for calling.' Was there something else?"

"Hmm, yes, well you know my son and your daughter were never only boss and assistant. They've always been good friends, too."

"Of course. How is Daniel doing these days?"

"Not so well at the moment, I'm afraid. I mean, things are fine at _Mode_, other than this photographers' strike going on now."

"Strike? I didn't hear about that. What's the matter, why doesn't he just pay them what they need?"

"Oh . ." His caller sounded taken aback at his response. "Actually, I don't know that pay is the issue. I've really tried to keep out of it, and I'm confident all will be resolved in short order." She heard Ignacio grunt, but continued, "Daniel's real problem is he's missing Betty. He seems all at loose ends without her. Ignacio, I'm a bit concerned about him. He's starting to adjust to not having her helping him at work, but I think he's also coming to realize that he's more emotionally invested in her than he ever realized."

"Daniel . . . and my Betty?"

"I guess I just wondered if she's ever shown any signs, any interest . . ."

"Well, I don't know. I mean she hasn't said anything one way or the other. I'm sure she's fond of him, but anything else? I'm not sure what I think about this."

"That's how I feel, too. I love them both and on the one hand if they could become . . . even closer . . . I feel that would be a wonderful thing. But on the other hand, it's a very special friendship they share, and I'd be kind of concerned to see them mess with it."

"Well, you know, ultimately, Claire, that's not going to be our call. But I'm glad you told me about this, too. Betty's coming here to eat breakfast with me tomorrow and I think I'll try to feel her out about it. Thanks for phoning."

"Good-bye, Ignacio."

Betty's father furrowed his brow at this new, completely unexpected development. He found that his stomach was churning and he hadn't even touched the chili yet. Taking some plastic wrap from a cupboard, he stretched it over the plate he had just filled and placed it in the refrigerator. Tonight he would settle for a nice bland poached egg on toast.

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The moment Betty stepped out of the elevator, the stack of reading materials she had been juggling tumbled from her arms and went flying in every direction. A minute later, when the elevator across from hers opened to discharge Daniel, he found her still working to gather her burden up without dropping anything else.

"Betty, what's all this?"

"It's research! Oh, Daniel, I had a run-through of my presentation with your mother today, and it was terrible. So she drew up this list of questions I need to be able to answer by the time of the Board meeting. And all this . . ." now a dozen or so delinquent pieces of paper slipped under her arm, escaping the collection she had amassed. "This material contains the answers I've got to know in _three days_. I have to study it tonight. Don't ask me how I'm going to get it all home in the subway."

"Here, let me help you. I'll carry some of this, and Arthur and I can drop you off at your place. It will give us a chance to catch up."

Arthur saw his employer approach escorting a lady he thoroughly approved of, for a change. Betty had always been friendly and respectful with him. He gave a crisp salute as the pair slid into the back of the limo, then he leaned down to pick up a couple of stray post-its that had fallen from the piles that both passengers bore in their arms.

The pace of the traffic was slow that night, but the driver noticed that Daniel and Betty didn't seem to be in any hurry.

"Listen, Betty, I wanted to ask if you've heard about Renée Slater being let out of Thornbush?"

"Yes, I got a call the other morning—woke me out of an interesting dream, actually."

"You mean like a Freudian one?"

"Not exactly. At least, there weren't any cigars or anything. But anyway, I'm not worried about Renée. Are you?"

"No. She and I have exchanged a handful of letters over the years that seemed very sane and civilized. And I'm sure they'd make certain she was all right before setting her free. . . . Well, perhaps I was a little worried at lunchtime the other day. Out on the street I thought a couple of times that I had spotted her—like she was stalking me—but each time it was a false alarm, just somebody who looked like her."

"Yes, I've noticed that can happen when something starts you thinking of a person you haven't seen in awhile."

"You, too? Like who?"

Betty turned her head toward the window. "Oh, I don't know. Just people . . ." she trailed off. Then her eyes slid back in his direction. "Well, how have things been going at the office this week? Ready to give me my old job back yet?"

"Oh, woman, don't toy with me." She was dismayed to see how forlorn he looked.

"No, I guess it's like they say. You can't go home again. You know what, though, I wish you could. I'm trying to hold on to that excitement I felt when you first told me I'd get my magazine, but right now I just feel lost. What was I thinking?"

"I feel lost, too." Suddenly, he pulled forward in his seat. "You know what? Traffic's barely moving, and it's not that cold outside. Let's take a break and go walk in the little park over there. Would you like to?" Betty nodded. Pressing the intercom button, he told Arthur to pull the car over, not noticing that Arthur was already in the process of doing just that.

After strolling beside Betty a short time, Daniel broke their silence: "Don't tell him I told you, but Danny acted out again today. Or maybe you already know from your little assistant?"

Betty frowned. "Annette? No, she said nothing to me. I haven't even seen her. Why? What did he do now?"

"It seems he tried to get Annette to lie for him so he could sneak off with a pretty girl intern."

"That would be Elise, I imagine. Damn it, Daniel, I'm at my wit's end with that boy. How am I going to impress on him that he needs to grow up, take on some responsibility and not always be seeking just to gratify his desire of the moment?"

"I know, I know. But think about it, Betty. He lost his mother just four years ago and then you came along and sort of slipped into her shoes in some ways. Now he's afraid he's going to lose you, too. So please don't be too hard on him. I know he needs discipline, but this time please cut him a little slack. For my sake."

"But why would he think that? I'm still here."

"Well, you are and you aren't. Things are changing, and he doesn't know what to make of it. I know how he feels, because I kind of feel like that, too."

Betty nodded. "Yeah, me too." She sighed wistfully. "You know what I miss—I mean besides you, of course? I miss feeling in charge. I miss being the can-do girl. I miss having you rushing to me with your eyes all wild, freaked out about some problem, and then I say, 'No worries, I'll take care of it' and you'd get all calm again."

"You paint such an alluring picture of me, no wonder you miss me."

His companion shook her head. "You know, Claire is going to have to do a lot of covering for me. Not just at this meeting but for a long time afterward. That doesn't make me happy."

"Do you remember how little I knew when you first came to work for me? And I'd been on the job in publishing for awhile by that time." Then, catching the skeptical arch of her eyebrow, he amended, "Well, sort of on the job. But that's just it—even I learned to grow into my responsibilities. And you have a work ethic I lacked, and you've had years of experience observing editorial activity. And besides, frankly, you're smarter than me."

"No, I'm not." She slapped his arm affectionately. "Truly, I'm sure we're equally as smart as each other. But thank you for the pep talk. I don't have a lot of self-confidence right now. It really, really helps to know you believe in me."

She placed her arms around him and gave him a companionable hug. Then, as she lifted her face to smile at her friend, it happened. One minute he was smiling back down into her eyes and brushing the hair casually from her face. The next she felt his lips on hers, not urgent, not passionate, but soft, tentative at first and then lingering.

After a time, she pulled back. "Um, Daniel, that was kind of strange."

"Good strange or bad strange?"

"Oh, not unpleasant, not at all. But definitely unexpected. And I'm wondering what it meant."

"You know, I'm not your boss any more."

"Oh, now, please don't try to tell me you've been wanting to do that for a long time and just held back because of sexual harassment policies."

Her erstwhile employer laughed. "No, it came as a surprise to me, too. At least, in a way it did. I've been realizing for a few days now that I had, well, some kind of feeling about you I hadn't been aware of before. But it's a feeling I find very sweet, and it's one I don't think I want to lose. There's not . . . I mean, I haven't seen you with anyone else recently?"

"No, nobody since Lucas Ezazy, and that ended a long time ago. But that doesn't mean . . . Daniel, I'll have to think about this."

They strolled back to the car not touching and he held the door for her. Keenly mindful of Arthur's watchful presence they said little until they arrived at her building. "Shall I help you bring this stuff up to your apartment?"

"No, the doorman will see to that. And I'll be working at home tomorrow, so I won't see you. But I'll make sure we talk soon." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he kissed her forehead and then she was gone. Daniel looked through the plastic barrier separating his compartment from the front seat and, catching Arthur's eye in the rearview mirror, he mouthed a single word to the driver: "WOW." Arthur grinned broadly and gave him a thumbs-up—yet another new experience in this night of firsts.


	7. Get on With It

Chapter 7

~ Get on With It ~

**8:00 A.M.**

"I thought we could have apple pancakes this morning," proposed Ignacio, handing an apple to his younger daughter. "Here, you peel and I'll chop."

"Oh, good, I'm going to need a thick stack of those today to keep my energy up for the ton of work I've got to plow through."

"That's what I love about my Betty. No matter what day I make her pancakes, she has a good reason why she needs to eat a dozen of them. I remember in the old days when Walter would come by here for breakfast. The two of you would finish off plate after plate. Walter always appreciated my cooking. I miss that boy."

"All the guys Hilda and I brought home appreciated your cooking, Papi. How could they help it?"

"Not that Phil. He hardly ate a bite."

"Phil loved your cooking, too. In fact, he complained about how good it was, because he was always on a diet and it was too enticing."

Ignacio snorted. What kind of a young man went on diets? Of Betty's male friends, the real estate whiz-kid had been his least favorite. "Thank God your sister, at least, picked a man with discrimination. Jamal—now, he knows food. He knows when something's good, and if it's good, he _eats_ it, like a normal person. He doesn't complain about it. Get me some milk from the refrigerator, will you?"

"Well, Jamal's a food professional, after all. He's not a chef, but as a restaurant manager, he has to be discriminating."

"Ah, and speaking of a food professional who _really_ understood food, you know who was the most impressive of any of them? Even better than Jamal?"

Betty knew. She had heard this all before. She winced a little waiting for the name. This was not a topic she would have chosen to wander into on this day when she faced a deadline that would brook no distractions.

But her father was warming to his subject now, growing ever more animated as he stirred the batter. "Gio! It was that Gio from the deli who came to fix Hilda's sink. After tasting my mole just once at lunch that day, he was able to tell me every spice, every herb! Most people try my mole and just say, 'Hmmm, there's something different about this, Ignacio,' but Gio figured out right away that the secret ingredient was molasses. He had the makings of _un cocinero de primera,_ even if your sister and you didn't see fit to give him a chance." Ignacio had never fully grasped the nature of Gio's relations with either of his two daughters, and his understanding of their true history had become even more muddled with time.

"You weren't so high on Gio when I almost went to Rome with . . . . No, wait!" Betty stamped her foot. "I'm not getting sidetracked into this subject today. I've got a disaster to avert!"

Ignacio's brow wrinkled with sympathetic concern as he funneled some batter onto his skillet's sizzling surface. "Surely, it cannot be that bad."

"It can! The speech I rehearsed with Claire Meade yesterday was a failure. She told me my presentation is completely wrong for the Board of Directors. I have just two days—two!—to bury myself in research and come up with a whole new talk. My entire career is riding on my performance, Papi. Just between you and me, I'm really scared."

"I see no reason for you to be scared, Mija. You're a hard worker and you've always had the ability to learn quickly. This is just new to you, but you're adaptable. You will be fine."

"Yes, I suppose so. That's what Daniel was telling me last night."

Ignacio looked up sharply. "You're seeing Daniel at night now?"

"Well, since I no longer work for him . . ."

". . . you now feel free to date him?" her fretful father finished her sentence for her.

"Date? Where did that come from? I was going to say that if I get to talk to him at all, the only time we're both free seems to be evenings. For your information, we weren't on a date. Daniel just gave me a lift home last night in his limousine, because I had a lot to carry."

"Oh, good."

"Would it be so bad if we were to date?"

"_Mija!_"

"What? I thought you you were fond of Daniel!"

"I am, but he is still a Meade. They live in a different world than us. They're rich and they use their money in terrible ways. His sister changed from a man into a woman. His mother—good woman though she is—killed somebody. His father conceived a child from the other side of the grave. And don't forget, one of his girlfriends—that Renée—tried to burn down his apartment and murder you!" He shook his head. "There is a darkness in that family. Not my first choice of where to find a son-in-law."

"Papi! Now you have me marrying him. What is going on in your mind? We haven't even dated!" Betty exclaimed, adding under her breath, "Yet."

For awhile Ignacio scowled and worked silently, pouring batter, flipping pancakes and slapping them onto a platter he kept warm in the oven. Once he had amassed a stack of a dozen, he divided them between plates for himself and his guest and handed them to Betty to carry to the table.

Father and daughter sat across from each other, avoiding each other's eyes, as Betty meted out hot coffee. Finally, she decided to address the troubled countenance opposite her. "Since you brought the subject up, I might as well tell you now what you're bound to hear anyway eventually. Renée Slater was released from the mental hospital a few days ago." Her father froze in alarm. The cream he had been pouring puddled in his saucer and dripped over onto the tablecloth. Betty patted his hand. "But Papi, it's all right. Her doctors say she's no longer a danger to anyone."

"Oh, no! This is bad! _Santa madre de Dios! Qué otra cosa le puede pasar a mi familia? Y qué saben los médicos, eh? Esa mujer es un demonio! Sólo trae problemas!"_

"Please, please, it'll be okay, you'll see."

"I hope so, Mija, I hope so." But his face displayed more dread than hope.

"Come on, Papi, let's have breakfast."

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**9:58 A.M.**

After hanging up her coat and scarf, Betty settled down at the desk in her bedroom. Picking up the list of questions she had spent the last evening poring over—questions Claire Meade had said she must be able to answer at the Board meeting—she was stymied by indecision about where to begin her research. Claire had said "costs, circulation, ad sales," those were the issues of interest to the Directors. Very well, she would start with costs.

Only minutes later, her concentration was shaken by the ringing of her cell phone. She would have liked to let it go to voice mail, but the ring tone—the Gloria Estefan oldie "Bad Boy"—identified her caller as somebody she did not want to evade. After what Daniel had told her about his son's insecurity regarding her place in his life, Betty needed to reassure Danny as much as he needed her reassurance.

"Danny? What's up? Why aren't you with Justin now?"

"We're taking a break because he taped some 'very special' segment on the Regis and Kelly show and he went to watch it."

"Good, I've been wanting to get an update on how you're doing."

"You must not have talked to Annette recently."

"Just briefly late last night on the phone, to tell her I'd left her some work for this afternoon, and to ask if she can stay late tonight. She didn't mention you, if that's what you're asking."

Silence.

"Sweetheart, I love hearing from you, but was there something specific you wanted to talk to me about? Other than getting reassigned from the mailroom, I mean, because that ain't gonna happen, at least until your father hires someone to take over intern wrangling from me."

All at once, his words came spilling out, "Betty, I'm sorry, I really let you down yesterday. I tried to get out of mailroom duty and I tried to force Annette to go along with it. I thought I wanted more time with Elise, but now it's fine with me if I never even see her any more. I just want you to keep on thinking I'm basically a good kid. I really am, you know."

"Oho, now you're putting words in my mouth."

"No, my Dad said you told him that."

"Hmph, your Dad has a big mouth."

"I want Annette to think I'm an okay guy, too. I think she's avoiding me. I know she's mad."

This forlorn Danny was somebody Betty was unfamiliar with, at least since he'd reached full-blown puberty. She didn't like hearing him so sad, but she liked the newfound maturity behind his words. Still she couldn't resist: "A girl with braces? What do you care what she thinks?"

"I didn't say I wanted to date her. But I don't want her to hate me."

"Then it sounds like you'll have to work your way back into her good graces, and I can't speak for her that that's even possible. Anyhow, whether it is or not, I think deep down you know what you have to do next."

"Yeah, turn on the old charm. Okay, no—just kidding. I know I have to apologize. I guess I didn't really need you to tell me that. . . . Oh, here comes Justin. He said he has to ask you something."

Another young male voice supplanted Danny's in her ear. "Hi, Aunt Betty."

"So what happened on Regis and Kelly today? Danny says you taped some big event."

"Oh, it was beautiful. They had Clay Aiken on and Kelly forgave him for putting his hand over her mouth all those years ago. Then they hugged and he sang 'I Got You Babe' to her. I have to admit I got all teary."

"Wow, that's really touching! But Danny said you have a question for me?"

"Right. Mom asked me to ask you if you can make it a half-hour earlier than planned when you come babysit tonight."

Babysit! A new wave of panic coursed through Betty. "On, no, Justin, I totally forgot about babysitting. That's not going to work tonight. Can you tell your mother . . ."

"Uh, you do remember Hilda, don't you? That's Hilda, your sister? A woman who wouldn't think twice about stabbing the messenger to death with one of her gladiator-sharp fingernails? Sorry, Aunt Betty, you're on your own with this one!"

Flipping her cell phone shut, Betty buried her face in her hands. Oh well, at least the day could only get better from here, and once she got this cleared up, she would have the rest of the morning plus all afternoon and evening to bury herself in work.

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**10:19 A.M.**

Betty's call to Hilda went right to the answering machine. Betty left a brief message,"Hilda, please call as soon as you get this. It's urgent, I repeat, urgent! I'm working at home today, so call here, because it's urgent." Then, hoping that her sister would catch on that she needed to talk to her _right away_, she returned to reading, keeping one ear cocked to hear her phone.

Reading turned out to be slow work, however, when the image of a walk in the park the night before kept tiptoeing into her thoughts. That kiss was the last thing in the world she had ever expected from Daniel. A romance with her ex-boss had never crossed her mind when she accepted his invitation, yet his lips on hers had seemed so comfortable, and so comforting.

Christina's words to her just a few days before echoed back to her—"Daniel's sweet and smart and he cares about you"—" maybe you really should start considering the idea of hooking up with him"—"never say never." But then a parade of his previous paramours came prancing across her brain: Sofia Reyes, Grace Chin, Renée Slater, even Amanda Tanen, plus Aerin, Petra, Elizabeta and a host of other models whose names all ran together in her head. Some were bright, some were vapid, some were nice, some were evil, but each was exceptionally lovely, an appropriate bauble to hang on the arm of the ever-so-eligible Editor of _Mode_. She was just Betty. And for that matter, at least for her, he was just Daniel. Weren't they like sister and brother? Or BFFs?

But being the focus of Daniel's attentions for once, could she ever have imagined it would feel so good? And coming just at this moment when she needed somebody to value her, to remind her of her own worth, somebody just to touch her, for God's sake—maybe that was the universe's way of trying to tell her something.

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**11:34 A.M.**

Waking out of her reverie, Betty pounced on the ringing phone by her bed like a cat on its squeaking prey. "Hilda, at last! I thought you'd never . . ."

"Hold on, there," a tenor voice replied, uncharacteristically masculine for her sister.

"Henry, is that you?" Damn!, thought Betty, I wouldn't have answered if I'd known—not the time for a chat. But then again, I'm not getting much done anyway, waiting around for Hilda.

"Just calling to share the good news. That package we were waiting for has finally arrived."

"Charlie's given birth to a little sister for Nate?"

"Little brother, actually. It turns out the kid was playing coy on the ultrasound. We're naming him Charles after Charlie, but he'll be called Chuckie just to keep them straight. Betty, I want you to know we considered asking you to be godmother, only our minister said it couldn't be a Catholic."

Betty felt a lump in her throat. This revelation was a little gift of grace in a day that was shaping up to be a trial for her. "Even considering me was extraordinarily generous of you both, Henry. Especially Charlie, given our rocky history."

His marriage proposal spurned by Betty, Henry had returned to Arizona four years ago and worked at forging a parnership with Charlie there, seeking a way to raise their child without rancor or dissension. Motherhood had softened his ex-girlfriend's sharp edges and Henry's ongoing presence within her orbit had fortified her sense of security. It had taken over a year for Nate's parents to fall back in love. Then on the second anniversary of their son's birth they had sealed their future together with a wedding ceremony.

Over the preceding four years, Betty and her former lover had emerged from the bitter fog of estrangement to reconnect as friends. "That rocky history's pretty much forgotten, Betty. Charlie realizes she wasn't very nice to you in New York during her first pregnancy."

"Well, I don't feel entirely innocent in that, either, Henry. I sometimes consider what it must have been like for her. She was bearing the child of a man she still wanted, having to watch him romance another woman, and she was supposed to accept it and just retire to the background. Might bring out the bitchy in anyone. Okay, she _had_ had a brief sexual affair with another man and lied to you . . ."

"Yeah, and you had an _emotional_ affair with . . ."

"I'm not denying that, Henry."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to jump down your throat."

"Don't apologize. It's a good thing for you to feel defensive on your wife's behalf. It testifies to the strong bond between you. You know, I've sometimes wanted to ask you . . . do you totally regret our relationship? I mean, it seemed so romantic and so right back then, and yet you wasted all that time with me you could have been spending with Charlie, the love of your life."

"And you could have spent it with . . ." Henry stopped himself.

"You can say it. I could have been with Gio. But who knows if more time together would have changed anything for him and me? I'll never be sure, and perhaps it's better that way." It was odd how things had worked out, that Henry was the only person in the world who knew what Gio had really meant to her, and therefore the only one with whom she could share those most private of thoughts. I wonder what he'd think if I told him about Daniel? mused Betty.

Her one-time lover paused before answering the question she had posed. "I guess I'd have to confess to ambivalence. You were my princess and I was your white knight, and I can't honestly say I'd wish away those memories. You were the right woman for that time in my life, and I did love you beyond all reason. On the other hand, thinking of how emotionally bereft my wife was during that period _does _cause me pain. Nevertheless, Charlie and I can have the rest of our lives together now, and I wish happiness like this for you someday, too, Betty. I really do."

"Thank you, that's kind. Listen, Henry, I'm so glad you shared your news with me, but I'm waiting for a call, so I better free up this line. We'll talk again soon, all right?"

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**12:47 P.M.**

"Betty, what's wrong? I got your urgent message. Are you sick? Is it Papi?"

"No, relax, Papi's fine, Hilda. Me, though—well, I'm not exactly sick, I'm more like on a speedboat toward catastrophe. I've got two days before I meet the Meade Directors, I'm not even remotely ready, and I've been getting nothing done all morning. Looks like my magazine may be sinking fast. Oh, well, it'll be a quick death when it comes."

"I'm sorry, but what can _I_ do?"

"Um, you can refrain from killing me outright when I tell you I can't babysit tonight."

"_What? _Okay, no bloodshed, but only because you're too far away for me to cut you. Betty, Jamal is going to be so upset. He only gets one night off a week and he's been wanting for ages to get over to check out this new Mediterranean restaurant in Morristown. Every time we have a reservation, something goes wrong. Now this. Can't you come study here in Teaneck?"

"If Jeffie starts wailing, you know I won't be able to work. What are the chances he's going to?"

"Based on this week, 100 chances out of 100, poor little thing. When Pavarotti died, he willed my kid his lungs. And Justin can't babysit because he has to work late, on account of _somebody_ got him a new day job." Hilda's sigh was audible throught the phone. "Oh, well, never mind. If I can't find another sitter, I'll stay home and Jamal can go with his bosses' daughter—she's the one who's been pushing us to try this place anyway. She's friends with that restaurant's owners. So what's going wrong today?"

"Nothing that bad, really, but I can't seem to get off the phone for very long. I had to have a word with Danny earlier, and then Henry called to say Charlie had her baby. It's a boy, by the way, and they're calling him 'Chuckie.'"

"Ewww, like Chuck E. Cheese?"

"Or Chucky the scary killer devil-doll, maybe."

"Ah, so you're saying the baby takes after his mother."

"Be nice. Charlie's my friend now."

"She should be your friend. She'd never have gotten Henry back if you hadn't squashed him like a bug when he proposed."

"Yeah, I guess I did." Betty emitted a small grunt of regret.

"Do you ever wish that maybe you _had_ married him?"

"Not for a minute. I mean, he was my first true love, and I'll never forget how that felt. I'm glad I had him in my life. But now that I no longer see him through a romantic haze, I realize how wrong for each other we'd be today. We've grown in different directions. It's not because we're different religions, different political parties—that need not have been a problem. But he's in his element now—a nice suburban, conservative guy who likes his small pleasures, his books, his Netflix subscription, his museum outings, his daily dose of _All My Children_. Not that I don't like most of those things, too. It's just that he lacks a certain sense of adventure. His instinct is to resist pushing outside his comfort zone."

"Even back in the day, he was the guy who wouldn't try a flaming pelican."

"Exactly. Henry's a sweet, kind, lovable guy, but I can't imagine loving him as anything other than a friend now. . . . Gee, you know what, Hilda? If I don't have time to babysit, I sure don't have time to be gabbing on the phone. You're my third call of the morning already."

"And all those calls are why you can't get your work done?"

"Yeah, those—oh, and one other thing. Last night Daniel kissed me. But, hey, look at the time, gotta run, big sister. Bye now."

"Wait! Daniel _what? _Betty! _Betty! _Betty?"

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**1:30 P.M.**

The knocking on her apartment's front door startled Betty. She hadn't given permission for anyone to be buzzed up to her. Peering through the eyehole into the hallway, she saw the round, friendly face of the daytime doorman Mickey. She opened the door.

"Your Dad dropped these off," Mickey explained, handing her a pan filled with a dozen frosted cupcakes. "He didn't want to interrupt you by coming up."

Betty noted that the icing on one cake was a bit thin, as though somebody had stolen a bit off the top and then tried to smooth the rest over to cover what was missing. She knew Ignacio wouldn't have disfigured his own creation that way, so, "You know what, I can't eat all these myself," she lied. "Why don't you help yourself to a couple? To get you through the afternoon."

"That's real kind of you, ." He took the proffered treats and headed for the elevator. All at once, Betty remembered the tip.

"Wait, Mickey!" she called down the hall, setting the pan of cupcakes on the floor outside her door and running inside to snatch up her wallet. Running down the corridor, she held out a bill to the doorman, who thanked her as the elevator door slid shut. Betty sauntered back toward her apartment and came to a halt. Her door was closed. Apparently she had managed to pull it shut and lock herself out.

It took all of twenty minutes to find Mickey squirreled away with his snacks and borrow his key to get back in. Struggling with the lock, she heard her phone inside, tinkling insistently once again. This time she _would_ let it go to the answering machine, she swore. However, as she entered, Claire Meade's voice fell upon her ears, speaking with an air of puzzlement. "Betty, I hope things are going well. I rather expected to find you . . ."

Betty tackled the receiver. "Claire, I'm here, I'm here. My work's going a bit slower than I hoped, but I plan to stay away from the phone for the rest of the day. I promise. I intend to be ready in two days."

"I wanted to let you know that those three seats on the Board that have been sitting open for a couple months have now been filled. Since you won't know anything about these new Directors, I'm having their biographical sketches messengered over to you. Please take the time to read them. Knowing your audience can make all the difference."

"I'll do that. Talk to you later."

But fate was against her still. Heading back into the hall to retrieve her cupcakes, she absent-mindedly pulled the door shut yet again. Now both her keys and her doorman's were inside the apartment and she was outside.

This time, resolving her dilemma took longer, as Mickey had to hunt down the janitor to re-open her door. At the cost of two more cupcakes and another sizeable tip, she was finally ensconced again at her desk, now practically in tears. By this time, nearly an hour had passed since Mickey's first knock. Please, Papi, she prayed, no more kindnesses, no more family offerings, not today. I can't afford it. Looking at the remaining cupcakes in the pan, she despaired. Just eight left—definitely not enough to strengthen her through the rest of the afternoon.

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**3:22 P.M.**

The doorman's voice greeted Betty again, this time wafting up from the lobby through the intercom. "Ms. Suarez, you have a visitor, a city Deputy Commissioner."

Betty grimaced. What could this be about? Oh, well—a city official, must be important. "Send him up, Mickey. By the way, has a package arrived by messenger for me yet?"

"Haven't seen it. If it did, I'd let you know."

A few minutes later, Betty opened her door to confront—oh no!—the devilish smirk of Marc St. James, who was holding a large paper shopping bag.

"It should have occurred to me that the doorman might mean the Deputy Commissioner of Culture. What is it you want, Marc?"

"Well, I needed a favor from you, so I called Meade and they said you were at home today. Then I thought, what luck for me to catch you on a day you're not working."

"I _am_ working, Marc. I've got a ton of reading to do on my magazine."

"What do you know? Your definition of work and Amanda's have finally converged. Reading a magazine was her idea of being on the job, too."

"I'm not reading _in_ a magazine, I'm reading about things I need to know to propose a new idea for a magazine to the Board of Directors. If they approve it, I'll become Meade's newest Editor."

"Really? I guess I'm impressed, if not dumbfounded. What kind of magazine?"

"It's called _Cuisine_ and it will report on new ideas in ethnic cooking and dining."

"Ah, a food fanzine from Betty Suarez. Now there's a shock!"

"I get it, you're making fun of me. Marc, did you not say you wanted a favor? Because mocking the person whom you're asking for help is generally not the best way to get your needs met. It's counterproductive."

"Sorry. Old habits die hard, but I'm always ready to learn at your feet. Besides, don't worry, I haven't forgotten that little bit of blackmail you can still hold over my head, thanks to your fickle pickle vendor of yore. And, actually, I did want something. I brought you this." With a flourish, he pulled a large stuffed panda from his shopping bag. "It's a teddy bear!"

"It's not a bear, it's a panda. And what makes you think I want one?"

"Not for you, silly girl. It belongs to Cliff. I'm hoping you'll return it to him. I found it in one of my closets over the weekend and realized he's probably been missing it for a long time."

"Why not take it over to _Mode_ yourself?"

"I can't. I'm persona non grata with him, you know." Marc bowed his head, his features contorted in sorrow. "I'm afraid he won't see me. And frankly it's hurtful for me to see _him_ these days."

"Well, then why not mail it to him?"

"But the postman can't tell me . . . Betty, how is Cliff now? Do you think he's still as angry as ever? I wish I knew how . . . I mean, if there's a way to get him back, do you know what it is?"

"Marc, you need to talk to him about those things. I do know that he has some kind words to say about you, but some harsh ones, too. I don't think he'd refuse to see you. Look, if you want, I'll return the Panda, but the rest I can't help you with. That's between you and Cliff. And besides, especially today, I just don't have the time."

At the front door, Marc turned and offered his hand, which Betty took in hers. "Thanks for returning Cliff's bear. It's name is Sancho, by the way."

The door closed behind him and Betty leaned against it and stared the stuffed toy in the eyes. "Sancho Panda?" She shook her head. "Really, Cliff, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear."

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**4:00 P.M.**

Time to give up and face the facts, Betty finally told herself. You're getting zero done here at home.

After cramming all the papers she had brought home into a small suitcase on wheels, she placed a call to her mentor's office. "Claire, I've not seen hide nor hair of your messenger. Are the bio sketches on their way here?"

"I'm so sorry, Betty, the messenger got side-tracked, but I'm just about to send him off to you now."

"Well, you know what? Never mind, because the truth is I've accomplished almost nothing today, and now everything's worse than ever. I'm coming in to the office and I'm going to spend the evening working there at Meade. Can you simply leave those materials on my desk instead?"

A few minutes later, suitcase in one hand, panda in the other, keys and wallet in her pocket. Betty passed the night doorman, just coming on duty, and trundled off toward the subway.

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**4:55 P.M.**

Unbelievable! Betty had barely removed her coat and slipped in behind her desk at Meade when the phone on her desk let rip a torrent of ringing. She waited a few moments, letting it drone on impatiently, then rubbed her eyes and lifted the handset.

"Hello? This is Betty Suarez. How can I help you?"

No voice answered her greeting—evidently a wrong number. But after a few moments' wait, she still had not heard a click to end the call.

"Hello?" she uttered again.

This time a pronounced sigh was audible, and then came the click she had been waiting for.

"Well, that was odd," she said to herself. "But at least no need for conversation this time."

Then, suddenly, a quiver of unease slithered up her spine, as an ominous name flashed through her brain—Renée!


	8. Heartbeat

Chapter 8

~ Heartbeat ~

As Danny entered Annette's cubicle, he saw her bowed over her laptop, concentrating hard on her work. Clearly she planned not to grant him a flicker of attention unless he forced her to acknowledge his presence. He rubbed his hands together. He made a little coughing sound. "I waited yesterday for you in the mailroom but you never came down. Not today either."

She was typing something. She didn't stop.

He tried again, "Um, what did Cliff want with you anyway?"

She threw him a quick glance, dripping with annoyance. Still she said nothing.

"You're right. It's none of my business."

"I had an appointment with him for some career counseling," she snapped. "Okay with you?"

"Um, Annette?"

She turned, raised her eyes to his and waited for him to proceed, her fingers drumming the desktop. Danny began to realize it would be far harder than he had expected to regain her favor. He ceded to her a grudging admiration for her steeliness. "Look, Annette, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I was so awful to you yesterday. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Oh, boo-hoo. Do I look like I'm crying?"

"No, you look like you're mad."

Pointing a finger at him, she gave a sarcastic wink and nod—as if to say "You've got it!"—and returned to her laptop.

"Anyway, I promise I won't ask you to do anything like that ever again."

"Good."

"So, what about Cliff?"

Annette shrugged, relenting a little. "I asked Ms. Suarez for help making a 5-year plan for myself, and she said Mr. St. Paul would be a better person to talk to, because he's a photographer like I want to be."

"Why do you need a 5-year plan? You're only in high school."

"Because I know where I want to be in my life five years from now, and in the meantime there are things I can be doing to make sure I get there. You, on the other hand, probably don't have the slightest idea what you'll be doing in five years. Your biggest plan for the future is getting Elise alone with you in a closet as soon as possible."

Danny's chin went up in anger, but he quickly stifled the response. "I guess I asked for that," he admitted ruefully. "But for your information, I do know what I want. I'm going to be a ballplayer, a pitcher."

"It must be hard to work at that, now you've been kicked out of school and aren't on a team any more."

"What's to work at? I'll get on another team when I go back to school, then either a college or a farm team will recruit me."

Annette swung her chair around to address him. "You could be going to the gym to strengthen your pitching arm. You could be running to build up your legs for running bases. You could be working with a coach to shore up the parts of your game that are weak. You could be developing as many different kinds of pitches as you can, to make you a more versatile performer. Or maybe you _are_ doing all those things and I'm just not aware of them."

"I've been to the gym." A couple of times last Spring when I first got a membership, he added to himself with chagrin. "Look, at every school I've gone to, I was always a stand-out pitcher. And without even working that hard at it."

"A stand-out in middle school and junior varsity? Wow, I can see the scouting agents knocking each other out to get their mitts on you. You know, even if you're the best 16-year-old player who ever lived, you could always be doing something to get better. If you truly loved the game, you'd want to."

"I don't see why I'd need a plan though. You just keep moving forward and eventually you get there. Where'd you come up with that idea, anyway?"

"From Ms. Suarez. Her new magazine was part of her 5-year plan. She was telling me last week . . ."

"So you've only had a plan for a week, and now you're on a crusade to make everyone else get one, too?" Forgetting he was supposed to be contrite today, Danny started to sound really cross.

"What are you two arguing about now?" A weary Betty noted Danny glaring at Annette as she approached, and Annette was glowering back at him. Apparently the apology was not going according to script.

"I was just suggesting he should draw up a 5-year plan like I have, but he has all these reasons why he thinks he doesn't need one."

"Oh, I see—quack!" said Betty.

"Huh?" they both looked at her strangely.

"Never mind, private joke."

"I'm sick of her plan already, every time I see her she's talking about it," griped Danny.

"Mm-hm, woof."

"What's wrong with you, Betty?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just came to see how Annette's progressing with those new charts I requested."

Annette sighed. "I've still got a lot to do, Ms. Suarez. . . . Oops, is that your cell?"

Betty flipped open her phone and raised it to her ear. The teens saw some of the tension drain from her tired face as she heard the voice of her caller. "Daniel, omigod, it's good to hear from you. I didn't get anything done at home today, or not nearly enough anyway. So I'm back here at the office . . . . Thanks, but no. Dinner with you up there sounds tempting, but it's late and pretty emptied out around here, and Annette's still got to stay awhile longer. I don't want to leave her alone . . . What?" She turned to Danny, who was tapping her arm.

"I'll stay with Annette if you'd like. I'll watch out for her."

Betty raised an inquiring eyebrow towards Annette, "Is that all right with you?"

The elfin face nodded, not wanting to speak right then. Embarrassed, Annette realized that her heart was pounding at the prospect of being alone with Danny. Staying calm had been no problem at all just moments ago, when she could focus on hating him. Why did he have to go and do something nice? The Meade heir saw the young girl's cheeks redden. Genetically wired to pick up on females' biological signaling of attraction, he smiled to himself. His redemption seemed to be moving along apace, after all.

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"Whoo-whee! Woman, that dress!" Jamal Robbins, tall, dapper and athletic, emitted a lusty wolf whistle. Thirty minutes before, Hilda had gone up the stairs of their home in a crew-neck tee spattered with baby spit-up. Now she descended in a swirl of tropical colors, cut low to reveal a bountiful expanse of bosom. "Does this mean you've found a babysitter, after all? Can you come with me to Sudio?" asked her admirer, naming the Mediterranean eatery Hilda had mentioned to Betty earlier.

"Unfortunately, no," responded Hilda. "Even if I'd hired someone, Jeffie's been putting in a rugged day of teething, so I wouldn't want to leave him tonight. Are you still waiting for Jackie to pick you up?" Jackie was head chef at The Platter, the soul food restaurant Jamal managed. Together she and Jamal ran the establishment, although her parents were its real owners. She ruled in the kitchen, Jamal took care of everything else.

"Yeah, still waiting. She's late. No surprise there."

"Well, this . . ." here Hilda spun to show off her dress, "is because I'm well aware that Jackie is hot for your bootie. I'm just reminding you before you go out that you have quality goods waiting at home, _if_ you behave yourself."

"I always behave myself, but let's just take an inventory of those quality goods anyway," laughed Jamal, hooking a finger into the front of his wife's neckline and scrutinizing her sumptuous décolletage.

"I just love when you gaze into my eyes like that," mocked Hilda.

Her husband lifted his face to hers. "Baby, there is nowhere I'd rather look than into your eyes."

"You lie."

"No, honestly," his chiseled countenance grew serious. "I could swim in those eyes and fly in them and hide in them all at once, they're so deep and dark and soulful." Lifting her chin, he leaned down and kissed her, then added, "I hope you know you never have to worry about Jackie or any other woman."

"No—but she better worry about me if she tries anything. I'll be a gang banger if I need to."

"Aw, Jackie just likes to flirt. She flirts with everyone. But she's also a man magnet. Everywhere she goes men come running, so why would she waste her attention on the one guy who is oh, so unavailable?"

"Boy, Jamal, do you ever _not_ understand women. The guy you can't get is exactly the one you always end up itching for."

"Hey, don't you be calling me 'boy,' now," Jamal scolded, grinning. "Listen, babe, if Jackie has a thing for me, which I doubt, she'll just have to pine. But tonight, at least, I guarantee she'll be too busy jawing with her cooking school bud Tiffany to be working on getting me in trouble."

"Tiffany cooks at Sudio?"

Jamal nodded. "She's a sous chef there. Tiffany's family owns the place and she works under her father in the kitchen. Right now, though, they're both being eclipsed by this hot young chef they brought up from Virginia. He's starting to build up quite a buzz locally, which is why I've been wanting to eat there so badly."

"Seems strange that they brought in an American from down South to put the spotlight on a menu specializing in Old World cooking," mused Hilda. "I guess Betty's right about that kind of mixing things up being what's trendy. Like the Korean place we ate at last month, adding in all those Tex-Mex elements. Remember? The chef turned out to be this red-faced Korean-American guy in cowboy boots? Yum, was his food good! The _gim-bop_ served with adobe sauce was to die for."

"Yeah, and I had the whatchamacallit, the _dae-ji gal-bi _paired with a bean salad in a lime juice-cilantro-cumin dressing. Whew, that cowboy could _cook!_ By the way," Jamal added, "be sure to let Betty know that everywhere I eat, I'm taking notes for her. How's she doing these days, anyway? Are her plans for _Cuisine_ moving forward on schedule?"

Hilda frowned. "I'm not so sure, and actually I'm kind of worried about her. She sounded quite anxious when I talked to her this afternoon. She has this presentation to make Friday and it's really shaken her up, which is why I didn't give her a hard time about not babysitting."

"I bet it's just nerves. Her vision for this magazine's a winner, I promise."

"Yeah, but it's a pretty huge step for her, all the same. She has reason to be nervous." Hilda leaned toward her husband, lowering her voice. "And not just because of the magazine, either. Would you believe, she told me that last night Daniel kissed her?"

"Daniel, her boss?"

"Well, he's not her boss any more, you know."

"Wow, that's kind of a bombshell, isn't it? But the bigger question is, did she kiss back?"

"I didn't get a chance to give her the Hilda special third-degree grilling, but I'll bet she did. It would be pretty hard not to, I'd think. The man's quite a kisser." Betty's sister caught herself and cleared her throat. "I mean, that's what the rumors say."

"Uh-huh, rumors, yeah. Not buying, girl—you are busted. So, confess, when did you kiss him?"

"Way back years before I met you, I swear. Don't be jealous, honey, it was just one of those Fashion Week things." Hilda waved her hands at him dismissively "Okay, you don't know from Fashion Week, but it's sort of like Vegas—anything that happens then doesn't count."

A car honked twice out in the street.

"Damn it, no time to go beat the guy up now. That's Jackie. Gotta run."

At the sound of the horn, Hilda abandoned all thoughts of Daniel and Fashion Week. Seeing her husband move toward the front door, she touched his arm to waylay him. "Listen, Jamal, this restaurant Sudio. It's in a safe part of town, isn't it?"

"Sure, it's in such an upscale neighborhood, Jackie and I will probably get profiled and stopped just for driving through."

Hilda smiled wanly at his comment. "I know you're making light of this for me, but that's not so funny. Don't let them arrest you or something. And make sure Jackie minds her driving."

Jamal ran his hand over his wife's hair, smoothing it down. He was used to this drill by now, and he understood its source. He knew it traced back to a single minute in a night in a shabby convenience store, a minute which would probably stand still in Hilda's mind for eternity. Bowing over her, the gentle giant crowned her with a tender kiss.

"Don't worry, little mother," he whispered. "I'll be coming home."

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Standing by the elevators on the 16th Floor of the Meade Building, Betty stood tapping her foot impatiently as she watched the floor numbers over one of the doors light up in turn, marking the cabin's ascent from the lobby. As the number 10 came on, her foot halted in mid-tap at the sudden memory of the mysterious phone call from earlier. All at once, she could not escape the image of the doors sliding open to reveal a malevolent Renée, face twisted in hatred. The Renée of her imagination was 8 feet tall, powerful enough to knock the walls down around them, and swift enough to attack like a monstrous lioness leaping on a wounded gazelle.

In a fevered panic, Betty retraced her steps to the Art Department in search of a weapon. She found Annette bent again over her laptop, while Danny sat close behind her, watching her work progress on the screen as she manipulated the mouse. Not wanting to alarm the adolescents, Betty approached them calmly and addressed Annette, "I might need some scissors later on, for working on my talk. Could I borrow yours?"

"Gee, I'm going to need them, too. No, wait, here's an extra pair. But what do you need scissors for? I thought you were just reading and taking notes."

"Well, I might want to cut up my notes."

The young artist looked baffled, but handed over the spare set of shears. Spying a can of fixing spray on the desktop, Betty then asked to borrow that, too. It could prove handy for spraying in Renée's eyes if the scissors didn't stop her. "Why? That's for charcoal drawings." Annette sounded even more puzzled than before.

"Well, I might need it, er, for, er, I don't know. Just in case. Why, do you mind letting me have it? I'll bring it back."

Annette and Danny looked at each other in bewilderment. Betty seemed kind of wound up. "Okay, sure. But remember to just spray it lightly. It doesn't take much to do the job."

Her words startled her mentor: "What job?"

"Um, stopping charcoal from smudging."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Escaping back down the hall, Betty's eyes fell upon a fire extinguisher. It struck her that Renée loved to play with fire! Shoving the spray can of fixant in her purse, she tugged the heavy container from its hanging place and headed back towards the elevators.

As she approached from down the corridor, she saw the numbers over the elevator door now lighting in backwards order; apparently the elevator had arrived, opened and now was receding to the lobby once more. In case Renée had snuck out before it descended and was now hiding somewhere ready to strike, Betty laid down the fire extinguisher, fished in her purse for the spray and tucked it into the crook of her left elbow, then struggled to lift the canister again. Emerging into the open, she steeled herself for an attack, but Renée was either absent or biding her time. Now juggling scissors, spray, purse and extinguisher, Betty backed against the elevator button to re-summon her transportation, but then thought better of it. Perhaps it would be wiser to take the stairs than to risk finding herself trapped in a small, enclosed space with a murderer.

The plucky young monster-slayer pushed through the door marked "Exit," still fighting to maintain her grip on all her weapons, and headed up the steps. One flight up, however, she realized there were 11 more floors ahead of her and that she was going to drop something any minute now. Besides, if her stalker were to launch an attack, was she really better off hidden away in the stairwell or out in the open, where somebody would be more likely to pass by, find her seemingly lifeless body and rush her to the hospital? Not, of course, that she wouldn't fight valiantly to prevent that necessity.

The young warrior pushed through the door on the next landing and found herself next to the 17th Floor elevators. The elevator car she had called was apparently now stopped on the 16th Floor, so with trepidation she pressed her body against the up-button and again waited, coiled to defend herself. Overhead, the 17 lit up and a chime sounded faintly from behind the sliding doors. Betty held her breath as the elevator gaped open. The interior was empty. A little moan of relief escaped her lips as she entered and heard the doors come together behind her. Still clutching the fire extinguisher, she was forced to let the rest of her load tumble to her feet so that she could free a hand to reach up and push the button numbered 28. Finally cocooned safely in her rocket heading upward, she felt a new wave of courage welling in her. "Okay, Renée, I'm ready for you. Bring it on!"


	9. Why Are We Still Friends?

Chapter 9

~ Why Are We Still Friends? ~

Having set out napkins and vending machine sodas on his desk, Daniel looked up to see Betty enter, one arm wrapped around a fire extinguisher while she gripped a pair of scissors in her opposite hand. "What's the matter—is there a fire in the building?" he asked, reaching for the phone.

"No, no. I was just worried about a call I got earlier. It made me wonder if Renée Slater might be lurking around to cause trouble. So I got to thinking, Renée—pyromaniac—yikes! Better be safe!"

Daniel's eyes grew wide with apprehension. "Renée called you? Did she threaten you?"

"She didn't say anything. I'm not even sure it was her."

"What makes you think it was?"

"Well, I can't figure out who else would call and say nothing, just stay on the line. That's something a stalker does, and she seems the most likely person to stalk me. Especially if she'd been following you and spied us in the park last night." Betty's glanced shyly at him, remembering. "If so, she would have seen just what she was afraid of seeing all those years back. And you did say you thought you might have spotted her a few days ago."

"Yeah. . . . Look, why don't you unload your arsenal over there in the corner for now? I didn't realize earlier you'd be joining me, so I hope you don't mind that it's just pizza. I ordered barbecued chicken, sweet peppers and onions for toppings."

"Daniel, I think you're aware by this time I'll happily eat pizza any hour of the day." Betty's eyes lit up. "Oh, and good, you got a large!"

Wrinkling his forehead, Daniel returned to the focus of their conversation. "You know, the woman I saw a few days ago wasn't Renée after all—I was wrong about that. And besides, the doctors did say she's not disturbed any more. Hopefully, there's nothing to worry about, because I hate seeing you frightened like this. Couldn't the call you got just have been a wrong number, Betty? The caller might not have meant to scare you. Maybe they were just rude. Unless you can recall something else that particularly made you think it was Renée."

"Okay, there is something . . . but you'll think it's dumb." Daniel waited, regarding her with curiosity. "You see," explained Betty, "Christina told me that if before breakfast somebody mentions a person you haven't seen in a long time, it's a sign you'll hear from that person by evening. So here I had breakfast with my father this morning, and the last thing that he brought up before we sat down was Renée."

Smiling fondly, Daniel cocked a skeptical eyebrow at his dinner partner. "I never thought that you of all people would fall for a superstition like that."

"I wouldn't, normally," said his companion sheepishly, "but putting it all together with Renée being set free, you thinking you saw her, then the phone call, it just seemed to fit. And Papi's really spooked about her being loose, too, so I suppose he reinforced my nervousness." Beginning to shake off her unease, Betty reached for another slice. "You're probably right, though, Daniel. It's probably nothing but my overwrought imagination. Yum, good pizza by the way."

"Betty, you say Ignacio, not you, was the first to speak of Renée? Do you have any idea what made him mention her in the first place?"

Her face assumed a bemused expression. "Well, it's strange. I don't know what got into him, but he somehow acquired the notion that you and I are dating. Actually, if you must know, he was pointing out Renée's attacking me as evidence that you're a dangerous person to hook up with."

"Whoa! Had you talked to him about what happened between us last night?"

"Not at all." Betty blushed. At this point, she felt awkward even discussing the topic with Daniel himself, let alone Papi. "Oddly enough, he just seemed to sense something."

"It sounds like he wasn't very happy about the prospect." Daniel looked glum.

Betty shrugged. "Typical father stuff, I suppose. Whenever Hilda or I have started a new relationship, Papi's initial instinct has always been protective. At first he envisions everything that could go wrong, then slowly he gets used to the idea. It takes time. Except with Phil Floss, who he never did warm to. Anyway, don't worry, I'm sure you're due for a trip to Papi's hot seat sometime soon."

Daniel felt his heart skip. "Really? So are you saying you think you and I are starting a new relationship?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Oh, wow, I can't get the possibility out of my head, Betty. I can't get _you_ out of my head." Daniel's eyes were glowing with intense emotion now. "I really need us to talk about this—soon."

"Me too," admitted Betty. "But the present isn't a good time for that. In fact, I have to find a way to put it aside, because I'm not getting any work done and come Friday I'm going to be in a lot of trouble. Your mother . . . "

A footstep outside the door made them both jump.

"Sorry to butt in, folks. Daniel, am I too early for our meeting?" The diners relaxed back in their chairs as Cliff St. Paul entered tentatively.

Daniel glanced at his watch. "Not really, Cliff, but would you mind if we finished our pizza first? Here, have a slice."

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Annette clicked on 'Save' and let out a sigh of satisfaction. "That went quicker than expected. I've gone as far in PowerPoint as I can with what Ms. Suarez gave me, so I think we can call it quits." She turned and faced Danny with a smile. "By the way, thanks for reading all those lists of numbers off to me. That really sped things up. I must say, I expected you to just go read a magazine over in a corner somewhere. It really made a difference that you decided to help me instead."

"Well, I owed it to you. Besides, I didn't want you to keep thinking about me as a complete prick—er, jerk—the way I know you must have after yesterday." Fixing her with a direct and solemn stare, Danny added, "I also want to thank you for not telling Betty what I did. I was sure you'd run and tattle."

Annette shrugged and frowned. "If you thought that, then you don't know me very well. And anyway, you didn't get away with anything, so there was really nothing to tell, was there? As far as I'm concerned, she need never know."

"Actually, I ended up telling her myself. I told my Dad, too."

"Wow, that shows maturity." Her eyebrows shot up, telegraphing her surprise. "Maybe I should apologize, as well. I may have underestimated you."

Danny grinned. "Ah, you admit it? Even though I don't have a 5-year plan?"

"Yes, but I still think you should consider making one. I don't know why you're so resistant to the concept."

"I don't know. I just really don't want to think that far in the future. As it is, everyone seems to be pushing me so much to make decisions and do things I don't see any reason to do—like the mailroom—and . . ." here he made quotation mark gestures with his fingers ". . . act responsible, be an adult, all that junk. I'm only 16, for God's sake."

"Well, that's you. I for one can't wait to be an adult. I'll have a lot more control then, so I can get a lot more done. You know, Danny, awhile back you told me you were mad because your Dad didn't accept that you had an 'adult relationship' with that girl you got kicked out of school with. So it seems to me that there are parts of being an adult you're perfectly happy with. You want to be one when it feels good. You just don't want the parts that are hard."

Now Danny was scowling. "Whoa, why is this suddenly turning into a bash Danny session? I thought we were getting along just now." In truth, he was surprised how good it had felt having her express a new respect for him. Funny, when he had known she had a crush on him, he hadn't really cared. Now, for some reason, he did, and it didn't feel pleasant to be heading back into old territory again. "You know, I might seem—what?—frivolous or something to you, but do you realize that you're way too serious for a girl your age? Like this job. It's just an internship, but sometimes you act like you're the goddamned Secretary of State. It can really be a pain."

Annette, in her turn, felt stung by his words. Especially after talking with Cliff yesterday, she was beginning to accept the reality that she wasn't the junior Meade's type and probably never would be, but she had hoped they were now connecting at least in a friendship way. "You know, Danny, my mother doesn't make a lot of money, and we could really have used the cash I could bring in if I took a regular after-school job. It was a sacrifice for her to let me do this unpaid stint at a magazine instead, so I could learn things and make connections for my eventual career. It would be pretty lousy of me to just throw that away by goofing off and not taking it seriously. I'm sorry if that seems unattractive to you, but it's something I can't help."

Watching the young girl turn her back on him, click "Turn Off Computer" with her mouse and gather up her purse, Danny was regretful. It struck him that he'd been right the other day when he accused Betty of seeing herself in Annette. She really was like Betty in more ways than he had understood. It wasn't just the braces. He knew Betty, too, had always been bright and talented, showing promise at a young age. And he knew Betty had felt, from early on, a responsibility for helping to support her family. Also, Betty—to this day—had that same passion to achieve. What Annette seemed to lack, that Betty possessed, was a certain kookiness and a self-confidence that allowed her to laugh at herself. But maybe Annette would have that someday, also. In the meantime, if he had to work with her, he didn't want to find himself making things harder for her, the way his father had done to Betty.

As Annette headed for the door, Danny laid a hand on her shoulder to intercept her. At this moment, Annette hated the fact that his touch could still make her dizzy. She stopped in her tracks, frozen, not looking at him as he spoke. "Look, Annette, I really didn't mean to put you down. I just felt like you were attacking me and I guess I got defensive. I do think you're a good person. A better person than me, to tell the truth. I just wonder sometimes if you know how to have fun. That's not a criticism, I just think it would be nice for you if you could."

"I do have fun. It just probably isn't your idea of fun. But I also recognize that there's a time when fun is appropriate and a time when it's not. Look, I appreciate you staying here with me so Ms. Suarez could go and have supper with your father, but I'll be okay from here on out. Thanks for your time."

"Hey, I said I'd make sure you kept safe and I meant it. I want to walk you to the subway, if you don't mind. C'mon, you can tell me what your idea of fun is. Perhaps I'd turn out to like it."

"All right." Annette nodded stoically. She had to admit it was puzzling. Here she was with a boy she felt exceedingly drawn to, and he was finally paying some attention to her. Why was she trembling as though on her way to her execution?

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Daniel and Betty were each on their last slice of pizza and Cliff had been persuaded to accept a second slice for himself. After talking shop with Daniel about the photographers' strike for awhile, Cliff realized that Betty had been excluded from the conversation and sought to bring her in.

"Betty, I hear everyone's excited about this new magazine of yours, _Cuisine_. Will you be getting that up and running soon?"

"I hope so, but this isn't the best day to ask. I spent the entire morning and afternoon trying to work on it at home, because I have this huge deadline to meet, and I've never had so many interruptions in my life. That's why I came into the office tonight to work. I absolutely have to accomplish something before I go to bed."

"What interruptions?"

"Well, for one thing, believe it or not, I actually had a visit from your ex, the esteemed Deputy Commissioner of Culture of New York City."

"Marc?" Cliff was suddenly alert, his face betraying his amazement. "Why would he visit _you?_ What did he want?"

"He wanted me to run an errand, actually—one involving you, in fact. It seems he found an old friend of yours in the closet last weekend and wanted me to bring him to you."

"Sad to say, I guess, I still have a lot of old friends in the closet, but Marc most assuredly is not one of them. I'm intrigued by this errand, I must admit."

Hoping she wasn't embarrassing him in front of Daniel, Betty clued the photographer in. "The old friend's name is Sancho. Does that ring a bell?"

Suddenly, Daniel saw Cliff blush. "Oh, you mean my panda—so that's where it's been hiding. But why did Marc give it to you? Why not just bring it here, or send it by messenger?"

"The truth is," he heard Betty admit, "I think he wanted to feel me out about you, Cliff. From the way he was talking it sounds like he may be hoping to make up with you. I don't know how you feel about that . . ."

"Oh, he knows what the price has to be for getting back together. I doubt he's ready to pay it. But if he wants to discuss it, he should just come talk to me. I'm sorry he involved you, especially now you're so busy." Cliff paused, seemingly fighting an impulse within himself. "Okay, I'll probably be sorry, but I have to ask. How is the rascal—as delicious as ever?"

"Delicious? I'd have to say, Cliff, not so much. He's always liked to get his digs in with me, and that hasn't changed. He couldn't help himself even knowing he wanted a favor from me. Or at least not until he remembered a little piece of blackmail I can hold over his head."

Suddenly Cliff and Daniel were both leaning forward, all ears. "Ooooo, blackmail! Do confess!" urged Cliff. "Does it involve Wilhelmina?" added Daniel, hopefully.

"Not Wilhelmina, but it did involve Amanda. Drat, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I'm sure it would be wrong for me tell you."

"Too late for that now. After going this far, it would be more wrong _not_ to tell us," scolded Daniel.

"Yeah, because we might burst," inserted Cliff.

"Okay, okay. Do you remember Gio Rossi? Do you remember I started seeing him, sort of, after I broke up with Henry from Accounting?"

"Gio, sure, the pickle napkin guy."

"Well, you may or may not remember that Marc at one point caught us kissing in the deli and took a picture with his cell phone that he and Amanda emailed to everyone at _Mode_."

"I don't think I knew that," mused Daniel. "I did!" cried Cliff.

"Well, after that, Gio couldn't wait to get revenge . . ."

_It was the Monday after Betty had visited Gio's deli and agreed to start seeing him. Looking trim in blue jeans and a charcoal gray tee layered over a navy, long-sleeved jersey, he was walking her back to her office following their first breakfast date in the Mode cafeteria. They were feeling a little self-conscience, shy and giddy with each other at starting this new phase in their relationship._

_Strolling side by side down the corridor, they spied Marc and Amanda hanging out in front of the receptionist's station, not an uncommon sight at that time of the morning. "Oh, look, it's the mean girls," declared Gio. He lowered his voice. "I think it's time for the revenge we talked about." With that, he handed his cell phone to Betty. "Do you remember how I told you to take a picture, which button to push?" he asked._

"_Sure, but what am I supposed to be photographing?"_

"_Don't worry, you'll know it when you see it. Just be ready." Gio laced his fingers through hers and led her toward where Marc and Amanda were holding court with the usual __Mode__ riffraff of models, junior editors and photographer's assistants._

_Marc was the first to spot them approaching. "Aw, how touching. Love blooms among the Hobbits!"_

"_And they're not even hiding it any more," added Amanda, pointing at Betty's hand in Gio's._

_Ignoring their ridicule, Gio stepped up close to one of the taunting twosome and bestowed on her a cheery smile. "Hey, Amanda, I hear you've taken an interest in the wares at my deli—my tongue in particular. Just so you won't have to wonder about it any more, I thought I'd bring you a taste." With a swift motion, Gio grabbed her by the ears and bussed her full on the mouth with a noisy, smacking kiss. At once, Betty realized, Oh, this is it! and brought up the cell to grab a quick shot of the pair of them in mid-smooch, Gio with eyes wide open and Amanda absolutely pop-eyed._

"_Mandy!" screamed Marc nearby, doubled over with hilarity. "Better call the vet immediately. They say for the rabies shots to work, you have to start them right away!"_

"_Don't worry," reassured Gio in a stage whisper, "I've had all my shots already." Then motioning to Betty to prepare to shoot again, he turned Amanda toward the cell camera, and leaned in until they were cheek to cheek. Closing his eyes, he smiled beatifically as though in ecstasy; for her part, Amanda simply appeared dazed._

_Marc flourished his pocket handkerchief and handed it to his partner-in-crime. "Here, sweetie, you've got a short-tufted pickle-pusher stuck to your face. Better wipe it off."_

_In an instant, Gio turned toward Marc so that their faces were almost nose to nose. "And you!" announced Gio. "I hear you've been taking my picture in secret, so I wanted to ask you—why settle for pics when you can have the real thing?" At that, Gio swept his erstwhile tormentor into his arms and pressed his lips to Marc's, bending him backward into a low dip. Betty clicked away._

_Wilhelmina's natty assistant started flinging his arms about, choking and sputtering, trying to upright himself. "Aack, germs! Salami germs!" he yelled. "Bring me some mouthwash, no—Lysol, no, wait—make it turpentine!"_

_The mob of Mode courtiers were by now rollicking with gleeful, malicious laughter. Gio stepped back. "Mission accomplished," he declared to Betty and was just starting to follow her to her office when they heard Amanda call out._

"_Hey, Gio, come back, you forgot to include the tongue!" As she descended on him with hungry determination in her eye, he and Betty exchanged surprised looks. "Uh-oh," said Gio. "Help!"_

_Moving fast, Betty inserted herself firmly between Amanda and her prey, shaking her finger in the predator's face. "Bad, Amanda!" she admonished. "Don't even think about it!" _

_An appreciative Gio grabbed her hand and dragged her down the corridor, beaming. At her desk he chuckled, "Mm-mm, I love it when you get possessive," and pulled her close. "Come here, my little Hobbit," he ordered, and kissed her sweetly. He kept it brief, knowing that for now Betty would not be comfortable with any more extravagant public romantic display. But his eyes swept over her with such naked affection that she felt her heart flutter foolishly. Before making his exit, Gio asked Betty to forward to him the email with the picture of the two of them that the demon duo had sent around the office the previous week. _

_At closing time, Betty's computer inbox revealed two emails from Gio. The first included an edited copy of their own embrace in the deli. Gio had removed the remark, "Betty Whorez is out of control" and replaced it with the words "OUR FIRST KISS," all in caps. "Someday," he wrote, "I'm going to blow this up and frame it." Betty smiled. That's what you think, Gio, she said to herself. Still, remembering how disgraced she had felt when the photo had exploded on monitors all over Mode last week, she was touched and pleased that Gio himself was not embarrassed, but rather proud of what it showed—proud of having expressed his feelings openly at last, proud that she had cared enough to kiss him back. She realized by now that what the photo didn't reveal—the slap which had followed—had been a lie, a flimflam. The passion on display there in bold color—that had been the truth, at least in that moment. She wished that she could know then whether it would last._

_Gio's second email, labeled "my new ad," was a message to Amanda and Marc, with Betty's address in the cc box. It contained a warning: "Any further intrusions on my and/or Betty's privacy will unleash the enclosed publicity campaign." The first of two attachments was a picture of the exterior of the deli, with a large poster prominently displayed in one of the front windows. An arrow pointing at the poster was accompanied by the words "My ad here—see the enclosed." Clicking on the second attachment, Betty found that Gio had created a montage of the three photos she had taken; a large copy of the one with him dipping Marc was bracketed between smaller-sized, tilted prints of the two Amanda photos. Across the bottom in large letters, the four-line caption read:_

_Two satisfied deli customers  
thank owner Gio Rossi  
after partaking of  
his extraordinary sausage._

"Did Gio ever actually display that in his window?" Cliff looked slightly scandalized.

"No, that bawdy _double entendre_ undoubtedly would have offended many customers, and Gio was too good a businessman to risk that," responded Betty. "Besides, young kids might have seen it, which he wouldn't have wanted. On the other hand, he would have emailed it to friends of Marc's in a New York minute if Marc had caused him any grief."

Cliff chortled joyfully. "Ha-ha, it doesn't sound like the revenge worked very well on Amanda—she didn't seem to mind the Gio treatment so much."

"I could have told him that," said Daniel. "I wonder if Gio considered that it might have been Marc, not Amanda, coming back for more."

"Yes, he did," said Betty. "I mentioned that possibility to Gio afterwards, but he said he knew for sure that—gay or not—Marc would be mortified to be seen in a clinch with a guy like him. Obviously he was right, since it still works as blackmail against His Royal Snarkiness all these years later. I find it kind of amazing that it bothers him that much, but it does."

"Yeah," Cliff shook his head. "That's my boy for you. He's so hung up on image, he brings it on himself."

Daniel took a last swig of his soda, and suddenly he was all business. "Look, Cliff, it's pretty deserted downstairs now, so I want to escort Betty down to her temporary office at _Hot Flash_ and help her bring her work up here to her old desk. That way she can be nearby and safe while we talk. In the meantime, why don't you set out the photos you took today? We can go over them together when I get back."

"Yes," added Betty. "And I'll bring along your old friend Sancho."

"Oh, yeah, thanks," muttered Cliff, darting an abashed glance at Daniel. "I guess it seems pretty lame for a grown man to be hanging on to a stuffed animal."

"Not at all," Daniel assured him. "I still have my entire collection of Lion King figures from when I was a kid. On the other hand, Sancho Panda—that _name_—now, that is lame."

"Hey, don't go mocking me, Simba! It's all good in the circle of life!"

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The temperature was chilly as Danny and Annette exited the building and headed for the subway. Annette shivered slightly and her escort noticed that her windbreaker seemed lightweight for the season. In a chivalrous impulse, he offered her his own, bulkier jacket, but she shook her head, refusing it. Had she been one of his usual female companions, he might have slipped an arm around her shoulder and rubbed her arm to warm her up. However, in this instance he held back, not wanting to mislead her that he had romantic designs on her. He expected she would probably rebuff him anyway, as she seemed uptight and edgy at the moment. Searching for a topic of conversation to break the ice, he asked, "Did it seem to you that Betty was behaving strangely this evening?"

"You mean that 'quack' comment, and wanting to borrow my charcoal fixing spray? Yeah, I wondered about that. She's been acting pretty stressed out the few times I've talked to her in the last week. She did look relieved when your father called her, though."

"I noticed that, too. You know, he confided in me yesterday that he's really been missing her a lot since she stopped working for him, even though it hasn't been very long."

"Wow, are you thinking something might be going on between them?"

Daniel glanced at her and nodded. "I've thought of it, but I'm trying not to get my hopes up."

"Then you'd like that? It wouldn't feel like she was trying to replace your mother?"

"What if she was? That would be okay. I mean, Maman's been dead a long time now, you know."

"But don't you still miss her?"

"Sure. I cried my guts out when she died. It was awful. She was all I had, except for my grandparents, and they lived pretty far away. What was worse, I got sent off to boarding school, where I knew nobody. It was a bad time, believe me. But then Maman's lawyer gave me the letter she'd left saying that Dad was my father and to go find him. After that, I was really mad at her, for not telling me way earlier. All those years I lost with him. Of course, now I get that she was probably scared he wouldn't accept me, what with me being illegitimate and unexpected and all. But luckily he did—at least he did once he was sure I was his."

"I'm illegitimate, too. I hate it! My father knew all about me from the start, he just didn't want any part of me or my Mom. Her family took care of her, but they were so ashamed. Sometimes, even today, it feels like everyone knows that I was rejected, that they're all looking at me accusingly or pityingly or something. I know that's stupid, but there it is."

Danny fell silent for awhile. He imagined it must feel terrible going through life fearing the disdain of others for something you couldn't help. Although upset that he had been cheated of time he could have spent with his father growing up, he had never felt personally stigmatized by his absence. The milieu his mother had lived in as a Paris model was quite relaxed about that sort of thing. Half the children he'd shared playdates with as a little kid had parents who had never married and thought nothing of it. Finally, wanting to comfort Annette, he spoke. "There are a lot of people around like us, actually—bastards in the literal sense, I mean. Justin is one, I know. And Elise's parents are divorced."

"Divorce is just the opposite. That's where both parents want you so much they fight over you."

Danny shook his head. "Sometimes, sometimes not. But don't go envying kids with divorced parents. Offhand, I've known a lot of them who were pretty unhappy about their parents being broken up. That's one reason I try not to think of my father with Betty. I sort of wish they would get together, but then it would be so much worse if it didn't work out. It might make her drop out of my life for good."

"Oh, I think she cares too much about you for that." Forgetting herself, Annette reached up and patted his back sympathetically, a gesture that, while not at all forward, was so uncharacteristic of her that it startled the boy. Suddenly despondent over the lugubrious turn the conversation had taken, he shook himself. He had not done so to free himself from Annette's touch, but she interpreted it that way and pulled her hand back hastily. Quickly, she looked for another topic to cover her humiliation. "So, your interest in baseball, did you get that from your father?"

"No, but it's something we turned out to have in common. He loves the game as much as me."

"My grandfather's a big baseball fan. I've spent a lot of summer vacations at his house on Cape Cod, and occasionally he'll drive me up to go to games at Fenway Park. That's how I ended up being a Red Sox fan."

Danny groaned. "Red Sox? Oh no, and here I was just starting to think we could be friends."

Happily prattling on about their shared interest in the sport, they entered the subway. The young pitcher was now enjoying himself so much that he decided to accompany Annette down to her platform and linger with her until her train came. She was smiling and laughing freely at last, yet for once her escort was barely aware of how her smile exposed the mouthful of metal that had always repulsed him before.

As they chatted, Danny saw out of the corner of his eye four rowdy, sloppily dressed young men in their twenties approach. They were making their way down the platform, joking loudly, shoving each other playfully and jostling others in the crowd. Still, he barely paid them notice until they drew even with him and Annette. As they passed, one of them slapped another hard on the back, knocking him against the slender girl as she stood facing Danny. The impact made her stumble backwards toward the track just behind her. Immediately her arms flew out, flailing, her eyes wild with terror, as she teetered at the edge of the platform, struggling to keep her balance.

"Oops, sorry," said the fellow who had pushed her, sparing her a brief, lazy glance but doing nothing to pull her back to safety. Alarmed, Danny pressed forward, and as he did the tunnel filled with the sudden roar of a looming train, rushing at them in the darkness. Young Meade reached out, grabbed both of Annette's hands and yanked her violently into his arms, away from the danger. As the train sped past and drew to a stop, he held her folded against his chest and felt her quaking, still flooded with residual fear. Suddenly he was conscious of his own heart beating fiercely. For a moment, they stood locked together until their pulses slowed and their breathing returned to normal.

Disturbed by her unsettling closeness and puzzled at his own reaction, Danny backed off to arm's length and gave his companion a peremptory once-over with his eyes. "There, you're fine, you'll be all right now," he announced gruffly. "I gotta go." Abruptly he turned and strode towards the escalator. In the swirl of emotions that now engulfed her, Annette became vaguely aware that the train had pulled away without her on board. With stolid resignation, she swiveled to face the tracks and stood awaiting its successor, alone again, the way she was used to being.

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Seated at her familiar desk in her old office, Betty felt a hand lightly tapping her shoulder.

"Hey, there, sleepyhead, you've nodded off," came Daniel's gentle voice through the fog of her exhaustion. "Why don't you call it a night?"

Betty surveyed the data sheets spread out before her unread, and felt tears start to coat her cheeks. "Oh no, oh no," she despaired, "I needed that time."

"Betty, if you're this tired, then it's better that you give in to it. Go home, get a lot of sleep, and you'll wake up ready to conquer the world in the morning. Think how much more you can get done then if you're well rested."

"But I won't get back this day I lost. And I just feel so scattered, I can't seem to absorb anything I read. Daniel, this isn't like me. What if I lose my magazine because I walk into that meeting unprepared? What if I make a giant ass of myself? This could be my one and only chance to not be an assistant forever. I can't stop thinking of all the ways I could screw up."

Her former boss, her friend, gripped her shoulders, raised her to her feet and, taking her place in the chair, pulled her down into his lap. Too fatigued to be startled, she let herself curl up comfortably there, her head resting in the crook of his neck while he soothed her, running his hand over her hair as one might pet a kitten. "Okay," he said. "Let's do a little visualization exercise. It's zero hour. You walk into the Boardroom and the Directors are seated all around the table. You see your laptop set up with your PowerPoint presentation, because you went in and loaded it ahead of time. Are you confident that Annette will have done a good job, that she's given you professional quality visuals?"

"Yes, I'm not worried about that." Chalk one up for Annette, thought Daniel to himself. I think I'm liking that girl. "So you walk in and right away you trip and stumble against the chair of one of the Directors."

"This is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Betty, you know and I know that sooner or later there's a good chance you're going to do something clumsy, so let's get it out of the way right now. And then, hey, if it doesn't happen after all, you're ahead of the game."

"So I've fallen flat on my face, what now?"

"Well, let's hope it isn't quite that extreme. But anyway, it breaks the ice. The Directors get to laugh together at your expense a bit, but not cruelly. Remember—they know you're new to this. At least with some of them, it probably buys you a little sympathy. It may even lead Horace Van Rine to jump gallantly to your aid. He's an old world gentleman, and if you can get him to step up early for you, he'll probably become your champion for the rest of the meeting."

"I remember him. He's always seemed nice."

"So you start your speech and bring up the first 'slide.' Of course, you've sequenced them in an order that places most of the parts you know best up at the front. That way, you can work through the early portion of the talk feeling fairly confident. Slide after slide goes by, and you're just skating along, snapping out the facts, making your case. Now your audience is with you. They're beginning to be impressed."

"Yay!" Betty cheered weakly.

"Uh-oh, now you're getting into the parts you haven't memorized so well. You sense the information and the ideas are slipping away from you. . . . But guess what? You don't care!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need to remember. It's all there on the 'slides'! All you have to do is read and point."

"Oh, yeah. I can do that." Daniel was relieved to feel her beginning to relax beneath his touch.

"So, the lecture part of your presentation is over now, and what do you know? You passed with flying colors. Next comes the tricky part—question-and-answer time. How will you handle what they throw at you?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I am. You're going to be fine."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because I'm clearing my calendar for tomorrow to help you get ready, and in the afternoon we're going to drill. By then I'll have a pretty good idea of what's in your talk, and what kinds of things they're likely to ask. We can role-play until the situation seems so familiar, you'll be hard to knock off your game."

"But, Daniel, all the work you have piled on your desk. Can you take the time?"

"Don't know. I'll have to ask my boss. But wait, I _am_ the boss! Boss, please, can I have a day off? Sure, Daniel, my boy, go help Betty. You owe her."

"But suppose you don't ask me the right things? You could get it wrong. They could throw me some curves."

"Aha, that's where your secret weapon comes in."

"And what's that?"

"Claire Meade, your Co-Editor. My mother's an old hand at managing the Board. If she sees you about to start floundering, she can step in and field some of the questions for you."

Betty pulled herself up and looked him in the eye, her forehead creased with concern. "But won't that make me look incompetent?"

"Because she speaks up? No, Betty. It's not just that they won't be surprised to hear from her. They'll expect it. They wouldn't like it if she didn't play a role, because for now she's part of the equation."

Daniel felt the bundle in his arms relax back against him again, reassured. "So what's next?" she asked.

"Look, the Board's applauding. And, wait, what's this? They're pushing back their chairs—oh, wow, it's a standing ovation. It's unanimous! Betty Suarez is now officially the Editor of the trendiest, most talked-about, most popular food magazine to come on the market this decade!"

"Good. That's the best part."

"No, the best part is what comes next. You and I go celebrate. Oh, I guess we have to bring a few others along with us. After all, you didn't accomplish this all by yourself. People wanted to be part of _Cuisine_, and they pitched in because they believe in you. So now will be your chance to thank them and toast them. But pretty soon, most of them will have someplace else to go and take off. And others will get the hint and simply fade away. And the few hangers-on who are left, well, we'll just duck out on them. Because I have to get you alone to tell you how proud of you I am. And because—finally—the time has come for us to have that talk we've been putting off. . . . Hey, what's this?" Unexpectedly, Daniel felt Betty shaking, and soon large, gulping sobs began to rack her whole body. "Betty! What's wrong?"

"Oh, Daniel. You've made me believe I can do this. Thank you, thank you." Her arms were around his neck now, holding on tight. "Thank you so much."

"Okay, okay, calm down. Let's get your things here packed up, and then go on down to the lobby. I'm going to call Arthur to come meet us there and run you home."

"But what about you?"

"I'm coming back up here for awhile. I've got a few things to wind up tonight, so I can spend tomorrow playing midwife to Meade Publications' newest, grandest production."


	10. I'll Stand by You

Chapter 10

~ I'll Stand By You ~

". . . I was sailing along, selling my magazine. My talk was going smoothly, the Directors seemed receptive, and then disaster struck One of the new Board members—Mickey Watanabe—pushed back his chair near me to get a better view, and it startled me so much that I tripped and fell and sat down in a waste basket." Betty made a face. "Unfortunately, it wasn't such a big waste basket and I got stuck." A collective groan went up from her audience, a large contingent of Meade staff seated around a mass of pushed-together tables at La Vie en Fuchsia.

She continued, "There I was struggling to get out, but all I managed to accomplish was to tumble over on my side. After that I could only roll around, trying to dislodge the darned thing. It seemed like forever before Horace Van Rine ran over and took my hands, and Watanabe grabbed the waste basket, and they pulled us apart." A symphony of guffaws arose from her co-workers.

"That must have been embarrassing, right in front of the whole Board," Grace from the Art Department commiserated. "I'm amazed you managed to keep going."

"It didn't bother me as much as you might think. You see, Daniel here," Betty glanced warmly at her former boss, seated next to her, "had prepared me for the possibility that I'd spazz out. He told me if it happened, to just treat it as an ice breaker. So when I looked around and saw everyone trying to keep a straight face, I told them, 'Oh, go ahead and laugh' which they definitely did. Then I had to laugh, too, and—do you know?—afterwards, I actually felt more relaxed giving the rest of my talk." Alex saw her brother give his ex-employee's hand a quick pat of support, and saw Betty look into his eyes and mouth back a silent "Thank you."

"So, apparently you were able to answer all their concerns?" asked Frank from Market Research.

"Well, I have to admit my strategy was a little cagey there." Betty lowered her voice. "Now what I'm going to tell you doesn't leave this room. From biographical information Claire sent me, I learned that one of the new Board members—Richard Ingle—is in a long-running feud with the publisher who puts out _Global Kitchen_ magazine. Its target audience is actually smaller than ours—it's aimed at professional chefs rather than the home cook. But because it also focuses on ethnic cooking, I added it to my list of competing publications and then mentioned our projections show that—of course—_Cuisine_'s circulation figures would leave it in the dust."

"Natch," nodded Claire approvingly.

"That was all Ingle needed to go to bat for _Cuisine_," Betty explained. "Obviously dreaming of seeing his rival's product crushed by a competitor, he went on a rant about how Meade needed to get this into production right away."

Claire chuckled at the memory, "Yes, Dick barely let other Directors get a word in, and at the end of the presentation, the Board voted 16-0 to approve a launch for _Cuisine_ early next year."

"Sounds like you've been prepping Betty on some of your sneaky tricks for dealing with the Board, Mother," commented Alex appreciatively.

"Not at all, there wasn't time," replied Claire. "This one she came up with all on her own."

"Betty can have fine killer instincts when she needs to," beamed Daniel proudly. Betty beamed back and for a moment forgot everything else around her. Alex caught their exchange of looks and threw a puzzled glance at her mother, who simply shrugged.

"You're all missing the point," Claire objected. "In the end, what sold _Cuisine_ to the Board of Directors wasn't tricks. They merely recognized that it's going to be a high quality magazine with a lot of appealing features. Anyone who knows magazines—or knows food, for that matter—can see that for themselves."

Taking her mother's words as a cue, Alex rose to her feet. "I suggest a toast, everyone. Please stand and lift your glasses." Amidst the clatter of chairs being pushed back, the entire Meade party followed orders. "To Betty Suarez, a woman who knows magazines and—as we all can testify to—knows eating. And who will never again be somebody else's assistant." Betty favored her co-workers with a self-deprecating smile, but her excitement was palpable as they raised their drinks in her direction. "To Betty!"

With all eyes on the newly elevated Editor-in-Chief, nobody noticed an elegant but chilly presence emerge from one of the secluded booths in the rear of the room and wind her way towards the front door. However, as the woman passed by their party, Claire recognized a familiar slink in her gait and turned to hail the current Commissioner of Culture of New York City, "I thought I caught a whiff of brimstone in the air. What a surprise to see you, Wilhelmina."

"Well, well, there's quite a gang of you here tonight. Enjoying happy hour, are you? Or is this a sort of Irish wake for _Mode?_ Given the issues I've seen lately, it seems to be on its last legs."

Daniel swung around and faced his one-time nemesis. "Sorry to disappoint you, Willi, but _Mode_'s circulation is actually holding up quite nicely. No, this is a celebration for Betty. She's just won approval to launch a new magazine of her own."

"Really?" Wilhelmina gave Betty's characteristically motley suit, now complemented by fiery red fingernails, the once-over. "Branching out into clown fashion, are you?"

Betty refused the bait. "I'm sure that would be novel and interesting, but actually my magazine has nothing to do with fashion. It's about ethnic foods and cooking.

"Do you know, I think Marc did mention to me something about your starting a food magazine. I hope it goes well, Betty. I really mean it. After all, the porkers of New York need something to read in their bathrooms like everyone else.'

"Thanks," replied Betty, "but actually it will be a _nationwide_ launch. By the way, Madame Commissioner, what brings you to this bar tonight?"

"Oh, I'm just grabbing a drink with a colleague—and here he is now." Right on cue, Mayor Bigelow Cucci strode up behind Willi. "Our meeting was completely about business, of course." The Meade staff, if not the citizenry at large, was aware of the open secret that the Commissioner of Culture had presented her job credentials to the mayor from a horizontal position in his boudoir, and that she still updated her résumé regularly on his casting couch

"Sure—business," said Daniel. "I guess that explains why you're dressed for casual Friday," he mused, casting his eyes over her low-cut white satin brocade dress, shimmering with gold embroidery. He would have liked to land a few additional jabs, but a more serious topic now crossed his mind. "Say, Wilhelmina, I was wondering whether you can fill us in on how your sister Renée's doing? Is she back in the city, by any chance?" Betty slid closer to Daniel's side as she, too, scrutinized Willi's face, awaiting an answer.

"I did get the word that she's left Thornbush Psychiatric, but I've no idea where she went from there. We're no longer close, I'm afraid. Gee, I'd love to stay and catch up on old times, people, but I have to run along now."

"Here, I'll walk out with you," offered the mayor with a studied nonchalance, as he helped her don her coat. "Goodbye, friends. Oh, Claire, I didn't notice you before. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Good to see you, too, Big." Claire's eyes moved to focus on a point just behind the Mayor and his business companion, "Oh, and good to see _you,_ Mrs. Cucci."

The mayor whipped his head around, startled, then shot a puzzled glance back at the Meade matriarch, obviously trying to cover his relief at the continued nonpresence of his spouse. Claire offered a blithe apology, her eyes twinkling wickedly, "Oh dear, my mistake. So sorry." Then, as the guilty pair made their exit, "Betty, did you have more to say?"

"Yes, indeed." Betty turned to address her friends, "First, thank you for that lovely toast. Every one of you knows what you did on the proposal, on the dummy issue, or on today's presentation, and it was invaluable. I just wish Annette could have come with us, but she had an appointment with Cliff St. Paul. You all know Annette Bretonne, I think. Despite her young age she's been my strong right arm these last months, and I hope that the chance she got to work with so many of you has started her on her way to a stellar career in magazines."

Betty reached for the pea jacket on the back of her chair. "And now I have to go phone some other people who should share the good news. Beatrice and Nadie from our Caribbean and Asian branches, who we're all so fond of, sent such useful information. Then there's my brother-in-law Jamal and his associate Jackie Douglass, who lent their restaurant—The Platter in Hackensack—to be used for that feature in the dummy issue. Henry Grubstick, formerly from Accounting, crunched some numbers for me. And of course my father's the pillar of my life, and I want him to know how things went, too." A glint from the charm on her wrist drew her eye and for a trice her thoughts skipped to Gio. You were part of this from the start, she reflected. It's a shame I can't call you, too. I'll just have to remember you in my prayers. She turned to Daniel, "Okay, I'm done here." And with a quick farewell wave, Betty started toward the entrance.

"Wait, Betty! I'll be with you in a sec," called Daniel. Then, apparently feeling the need to explain, he turned back toward the assembled staff. "Um, Betty, um, Betty and I, we have some business. Some business that we still need to talk about, that is. We're going to talk about. . . magazines. Magazine business stuff, you know. Yes, well, everyone have a good evening." A pinkish tinge had bloomed on his cheeks and was spreading up towards his hairline. "I've let the house know that the drinks are on me tonight. You can . . . I'm going to . . . yes, well, you all have a good evening. See you Monday." The features of Daniel's handsome face seemed to reorder themselves foolishly into a discombobulated jumble as he took Betty's elbow and escorted her toward the door.

"Mother," Alex draped her arm around Claire's shoulder, "did I just see what I think I saw? Are Daniel and Betty headed for a business meeting like Willi's and Mayor Cucci's business meeting?"

"Alex, I don't know what you saw . . ." Claire held up her glass to examine the liquid therein more closely, then swirled it around and upended it down her throat. ". . . and supposedly, this is ginger ale I'm drinking, but I could swear that _I_ just saw some pigs winging South for the winter."

"Well then, I'm gonna bundle up well going home tonight, because it seems the weather report is calling for Hell to freeze over."

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Emerging from an elevator into the lobby of the Meade Building, Cliff St. Paul found his attention tugged in multiple directions. Across the broad expanse of marble floor, the night guard sat behind the security desk, conversing solemnly with a stunning and stylish African American woman of about Cliff's own age. The woman, who appeared tense and disappointed, struck Cliff as familiar. However, since he couldn't place her, his eye soon drifted away wistfully through the glass doors that led to the well-lit plaza in front of the building.

Out there a few of his fellow photographers manned a straggling picket line. Had Cliff not been recently elevated to a management position at Meade, he would be among them, his handmade protest sign, like theirs, lying on the ground or propped up against a wall or lamp post as he fought off fatigue and waited for a monotonous evening to wind down. Instead, he was headed home to prepare for a weekend filled with work that fell to him precisely as the result of his former colleagues' enforced idleness. Pinched by a twinge of guilt, he reminded himself that he was not a scab but an officer of the company and that his continued plying of his trade was entirely legitimate and appropriate.

Now contemplating the busy day facing him tomorrow, he turned to engage the slender young woman who had accompanied him from the elevator. "I guess Betty is off with the whole crew, celebrating somewhere. You should be with them. Sorry I had to pull you away, but I thought it was important that we touch base tonight."

"Oh, that's all right," replied Annette with a smile. "I saw Ms. Suarez right after she got the good news, so I know everything came out well. Since I'm under age, she and her friends couldn't have gone to a bar if I'd been with them. She and I can celebrate on our own another time. Besides, frankly, that's the past and the assignment you're offering me is the future, which is what interests me more at the moment. Especially since you're paying me."

"I hope you understand that this weekend is special. You'll get a paycheck because it's for time you wouldn't normally be on the job. Mainly you'll be helping me set up equipment and props and work as my go-between to the models, but I may actually ask you to take a few test shots on your own, too. That's why I wanted a helper who really knows photography. Nevertheless, most of the time from here on out, there won't be pay involved. You'll just be working the same hours as you've always done, but reporting to me instead of Betty. Do you mind that?"

"No, I'm looking forward to it. After my work on _Cuisine_ was finished, things frankly got dull around here. Danny Meade gripes about working the mailroom, and I was based back there mainly to keep an eye on him, but the truth is I find it as boring as he does now. It was fun when I first started my internship because it helped me to get to know people throughout the company, but now I've been there, done that. I'm much happier moving on to something where I can use my arts background again."

"And I can't tell you how pleased I am to acquire your services. Now, here's a list I've put together for you for tomorrow morning . . . "

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

A stretch limousine sat idling by the curb in front of the Meade building, and inside, concealed behind tinted windows, the Deputy Commissioner of Culture was primping.

The breath mint currently dissolving in his mouth was his thirteenth. His breath had now reached the sweetest it could possibly aspire to, like hitting absolute infinity on a thermometer of mintiness, but he kept popping in the candies anyway because he found the tingle they gave his tongue reassuring. Likewise his hair, as reflected back to him in the hand mirror he kept stowed in the limo, was perfection, held in place by high-priced product so reliable that nary a tress was afforded the freedom to express itself.

Marc had a word for the effect that he sought, and tonight the image in his mirror blew that word back to him like tossed kisses: debonair. Marc St. James was the visual and olefactory epitome of debonair. Secure in the flawlessness of his exterior presentation, he now lowered his window in search of a distraction to tame his inner butterflies.

"Danny . . . . psst! Danny Meade! Is that you, all grown up?"

Danny was loitering aimlessly on the sidewalk, having only just summoned Arthur for a ride, and was feeling melancholy and adrift for reasons he could not fully explain to himself. Suddenly hearing his name invoked, he raised his eyes to the droll countenance of one of his earliest and most entertaining American friends. A broad smile dawned across his princely features, rendering them carelessly radiant. Marc, the target of this sudden illumination, who had known the Meade heir as an appealing little kid, now found himself dazzled by the boy's post-pubescent beauty. "It's Marc St. James. Willi Slater and I bought you your first dinner in New York. Remember?"

"Marc, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for a friend. Do you know Cliff St. Paul?"

A cloud passed over Danny's hitherto sunny countenance. "Yes, I know Cliff. Is he meeting you here?"

"He said he would. You haven't you seen him, have you?"

"Not recently, but I think he's busy right now with someone I know."

A small spasm of jealousy gripped Marc. "Someone you know? A model, perhaps?"

"No, another photographer, I guess you could say."

Marc couldn't suppress an impulse to ask, "Would you mind telling me, is this photographer attractive?"

Unexpectedly, Danny found himself so flummoxed by the question that he failed to wonder about the motive behind it. Falling back on what was by now his accustomed criterion for assessing the individual under discussion, he responded, "Well, she wears braces."

Why was Marc suddenly all smiles? "She? You said, she . . .?"

"Wears braces, yes. But, you know, they're not so bad. Other than that, her smile is kind of . . ."

"Her!" declared Marc with satisfaction.

". . . cute."

"Cute?"

"Well, if you like that sort of thing. In a girl, I mean."

"Oh," said Marc. Then, "Well, I don't." Danny was staring at him quite oddly now, evidently confused. "I don't like girls, I mean. That is, I like them fine but I don't find them cute." At this point, it occurred to Marc that—while Danny was obvious jailbait and he himself was no pervert—the lad did hold promise for attaining studmuffin status in the years to come. Curious, he followed up: "Do you find girls cute, Danny?"

Now the son of Daniel Meade, horndog extraordinaire, was looking at him as though he were insane. Marc sighed. "That's okay. I can see that you play for the other team. Like your Dad—he was all over the other team. I was just wondering whether you might be interested in joining mine sometime."

"Your team?" A light went on behind Danny's eyes. "I see, you're talking about being gay. Sorry, I can't sign up for that one." Marc noticed Danny's gaze had fallen for a second on his left cheek, then darted away. "Are you here for a date with Cliff, then?" asked the boy.

"Not exact . . ." Marc halted, for Danny was stealing another look at the left side of his face. What was the matter? He started to raise his hand to his cheek, but now glimpsed Cliff, heading out of the building, and not alone. "Oh good, here he comes—but he seems to have acquired a pet monkey."

Danny spun, spotted Cliff and his companion, then spun back to fire a look of naked hostility in Marc's direction. "You know what, I used to be the only Meade who liked you," he snapped. And with that he sped away, calling, "Annette, hey, wait up!"

What happened? Marc asked himself. I guess he means there are no Meades now that like me? The corners of Marc's mouth slid down. Or maybe he means now there are two! This cheered him momentarily, until he recalled Danny's preoccupation with his face. Pressing the button to raise his window and stealing a surreptitious peek in the hand mirror, Marc spied with dismay an angry red pimple.

Immediately he heard tapping on the window. Despite the tinted glass, Cliff had somehow ferreted out his presence and stood waiting by the car to gain entrance. Marc put away the mirror and opened the door.

"How did you know I was in here?" he asked his former lover.

"Gee, it was the only stretch limo in the vicinity. So just a lucky guess, I suppose."

"Well, hop in, why don't you? I was hoping we could talk." As the photographer hefted himself into the car, Marc could not help noting that his clothes were as slovenly as ever. And yet his heart ached to touch and be touched by this man. How could that be?

"Marc, I just want to say I appreciate your sending Sancho back to me."

"Think nothing of it. Every boy needs his teddy bear."

"He's not a bear, he's . . . oh, never mind. Just thank you. You can be very thoughtful sometimes, you know. Those are the times I miss you."

"Miss me enough to maybe give me another chance?"

"Do you miss me enough to stop being the Deputy Commissioner of Culture?"

"You don't like my job?"

"I don't like your boss."

Marc looked down at his impeccably manicured fingernails. "Just because she's my boss doesn't mean she owns me. But when you're Deputy Commissioner of Culture, it's pretty hard to dump the Commissioner of Culture. She pretty much comes with the territory. Besides we're a talented team, you know, an asset to the city."

Cliff shrugged, "Okay, I've followed your latest career and I have to confess you've turned out to be good at your job. In fact, I even have to confess Willi's good at hers."

"We _are_ good. New York's had a 22 percent increase in culture since we took over."

A chuckle escaped Marc's rotund visitor. "Damn, you could always make me laugh."

"I live to amuse. That's what you should remember about me. Just because I've let Willi lead me astray with a few pranks from time to time doesn't mean I'm evil."

"I've never thought you were evil, Marc. I do take more seriously than you some of the harm your boss has done, including things you've had a role in. But our problems amounted to more than that. It's not just that you're loyal to Willi. It's that she always comes first. As long as that's the case, your romances will never be more than flings, and I'm past needing another fling in my life." Cliff reached up a hand to grip Marc's chin and bring him face to face. But Marc was holding his head rigid and wouldn't budge.

Disappointed, Cliff nevertheless soldiered on. "I'll tell you what. Let's have an experiment. Thursday is Thanksgiving. Spend it with me, just the two of us."

Although Marc remained in profile, his eyes slid to the side, attempting to meet Cliff's. "I'd like that, sweetheart. I'll even volunteer for turkey duty."

Cliff brightened. "Wonderful! You'll make a great turkey, because you're so scrumptious I could just gobble you up."

"Oh, Cliffy, how I miss your corny flirting. There's just one thing, though. It can't be the whole day."

Cliff slouched in his seat, disappointed. "Uh-oh, here it comes."

"Well, if it just weren't a holiday. But you know, those can be hard on lonely people."

"Tell me about it."

"And Wilhelmina's got a man in her life, but he can't be with her on that day this year. . . ."

"Or any year. For God's sake, Marc, do you two honestly think people don't know she's boinking the mayor? She's a big girl. Being with a married man—that's a decision she made for herself. It needn't affect you unless you let it. Look here, this is make-or-break time as far as I'm concerned." Now Cliff leaned forward and attempted to position himself face-to-face with the object of his affections. Damn it, Marc could at least look at him! But Marc turned his head away. Cliff pulled back in disgust. "Okay, I guess I have my answer."

Marc bowed his chin and looked miserable. "Why can't you cut me some slack?"

"Because this is too important."

"I still love you. I don't know what more I can say." Finally, choking on tears, Cliff's beloved twisted around and stared him straight in the eye.

When Cliff saw what he had been hiding, he shook his head. "I'm fighting for our relationship and you're fighting to hide a pimple?"

"I'm fighting for our relationship, too, Cliff. _And_ fighting to hide a pimple. Life is more complicated than you realize sometimes. That doesn't mean I can't prioritize. All right, I'll do as you ask. Willi's on her own Thursday."

Stroking Cliff's plump cheek tenderly, Marc leaned in for a kiss. But suddenly Cliff became aware that his companion had frozen in mid-gesture and was staring with horror through the window. Following Marc's gaze, Cliff was bewildered. All he saw were the weary photographers on their picket line, Annette and Danny deep in conversation off to the side, and the African-American woman he had recently observed at the security guard's station, now sauntering down the front steps looking sullen. "What is it, Marc?" he asked. "What's wrong? What are you seeing?"

"My worst sin ever, coming back to haunt me."

"You're talking about a sin here? Not a boo-boo, not an oopsy—a sin? That's not like you."

"Now that I think about it, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am evil, after all. You'd probably do better to stay away."

"Wow, okay, I'm going to go and let you think about things, why don't I? But, Marc, I'll call you later."

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

"Annette, hey, wait up!"

Hearing her name, Annette glanced up, saw Danny approaching, offered him a brief wave and went back to perusing the list Cliff had just given her.

Irritated at not having garnered her full attention, the boy drew up beside her and peeked at the list. "What's that?"

Annette met his query with dancing eyes. "Mr. St. Paul's giving me a job this weekend, a _paying_ job. On top of all his work as Creative Director, he has to shoot a lot of the principal photography for this month's _Mode_. Because of the strike, you know. So he wants _me_ to come along as his assistant, and I'm going to be able to earn cash for my Christmas fund, to boot."

Danny brightened. "That's great! He was down looking for you in the mailroom earlier, and I was worried he was getting you reassigned to him during your regular hours."

"Actually, that's happening, too, but why are you worried? You won't get stuck with all the mail yourself. I'm sure Ms Suarez will send someone else to help you. Hey, perhaps she'll put Elise there! You'd like that, wouldn't you? I don't think she's done that rotation yet."

"You sound pretty happy about it," he sounded resentful.

"Of course I'm happy. Working for _Mode_'s Creative Director is going to open the door to all kinds of interesting assignments. Danny, please don't be jealous. I know you hate the mailroom, but your time there can't last that much longer. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and we don't have to work over the holidays. And then a new set of interns will be brought in after New Year's, and I'm sure mail duties will revolve to a couple of them."

"I'm sorry. Congratulations, I mean. Anyway, it's not the mail. It's just that . . ." he trailed off.

The girl raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "What?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you about something, but never mind."

Danny seeking her out for conversation—that was a new development. Annette was at a loss for words and so searched for another topic. "Did you hear Ms Suarez got a unanimous vote from the Board to go ahead with her magazine?"

"Yeah, actually that's partly what I wanted to talk about. Oh, here's Arthur." The Meade family limo was pulling up to the curb just in front of Marc's. "We could continue our conversation if we gave you a ride home. Why don't you let us?"

"All the way to Astoria? You've got to be kidding."

"No. We could do that."

"Well, it's really nice of you to offer, Danny, but me coming home in a limo would have my Mom sending up all kinds of worry signals. And if she knew there was a rich boy with me, she'd be twice as anxious."

"Would it help if I came in and met her?"

"So she could see the rich boy was also good-looking? Wow, now we're hitting a perfect trifecta on the parental freak-out meter."

A smug smile escaped the Meade scion. "You think I'm good-looking, do you?"

"Of course I think you're good-looking. Everybody does. You know that. And by the way, you think so, too, so don't be giving me some false modesty garbage." This was exasperating, she thought. Did he think she was trying to flirt with him, for pete's sake?

A couple of impatient honks sounded from the limo, but Danny ignored them. "Sorry, you're right. I'm full of crap. I won't mention it again. But just wait a minute, okay?"

The chauffeur was out of the car now. "Danny, I'm on call to pick up your father soon. We've got to get moving."

"Never mind, Arthur, I'll take the subway instead. You can go on without me."

Annette felt near to fainting in amazement. What was up with Danny? What did he want from her? Something must be really wrong. "Are you thinking I need you to look out for me again, like the other evening? Because I'm fine. Why don't you ride along with your driver when he gets your Dad, and that would save him a trip? Plus you could spend time with your father."

"That's just it. My father won't be alone." He turned and waved Arthur off: "It's okay, you can run along." Turning back to Annette, he continued. "Dad called me earlier after the Board met to let me know what they decided, and then he asked me to spend the night at my grandmother's apartment. He does that sometimes and it always means one thing. He's entertaining at home, if you catch my drift." Worry lines creased his brow.

"So your Dad has a date? But doesn't he date a lot? Why do you need to talk to me about it?"

"Because this time he said he's bringing Betty home. I mean, he said it's for a celebration dinner, but . . ."

"You're thinking something more might happen."

Danny nodded.

"But weren't you saying the other day that you wanted them to get together? This could be just what you've been hoping for."

"I don't think I like hoping. Hoping can be dangerous. Come on, we'd better head for the subway."

Annette fell in beside him and patted his arm sympathetically. It seemed that she was going to have a new role in Danny's life—confidante. So apparently they were really friends now. Friends—good—she was comfortable with that.

"You know, maybe your Dad and Ms. Suarez really just want to have dinner and share this moment of victory. It could be as simple as that."

"Perhaps, but what if he makes a move on her? I'm afraid that he's going to get hurt. Or he's going to hurt her. Annette, what if he blows it? He could ruin everything."

"Look, whatever happens, even if they have an awkward moment, they're really close friends and they care about each other. Maybe they're going to be something more than friends, maybe not. But I can't believe that they'd throw away what's already between them. And, together or not, you'll still have both of them in your life. I'm sure of that." Annette gave an ironic little chuckle. "Did it ever occur to you that what you're feeling now is kind of like what parents feel watching their kids grow up and have love lives of their own?"

Danny stopped walking and stared at her. "Oh my god, you could be right. My poor father. I am so going to be a better son from now on."

She laughed. "Then my work here is done."

Her companion laughed, too, and slipping his arm around her shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze. "Maybe, maybe not."


	11. So Close

Chapter 11

~ So Close ~

"This is the best day I've had all year. In fact, I think, in a lot of years. And you found the perfect way to end it." Betty leaned back in her easy chair and let the heat from the fireplace toast her luxuriantly from head to toe. "Daniel, dinner was incredible. I love how you combined foods from five different continents, symbolizing the different cuisines my magazine will cover. You've led me to realize that we should have a regular feature on catered food. I'll have to get the names of all the services you used this evening, especially the Ethiopian one. That might have been the best soup I've ever eaten."

"I'm glad you liked it—the food and also the gesture—because what I hoped for was to make you feel special tonight. And here's a special treat to top it off." Daniel rose from the sofa, and lifted from the coffee table and handed over one of two liqueur glasses filled with a liquid the color of tiger's eyes.

Betty tasted it. "Amarula—how did you know? This may be my favorite liqueur ever!" She took another sip and closed her eyes, the better to savor the exquisite flavor derived from the South African marula fruit, a mixture of toffee and spices. "It's hard to believe that just two days ago I was all set to go down in defeat. And then you rescued me. You rescued my future. I can never tell you how much . . ."

"Shhh, Betty. I think this just makes us even. Remember how you saved me with that cosmetics layout you gave me when I was just starting out? I kept my magazine, and now you get to have yours."

"Well, . . . I'm not sure I'm ready to concede that makes us even yet . . .

Daniel grinned, "You won't let me get away with anything, will you? But you know what, that's one of the things I miss about you."

"Yes, it was kind of bittersweet Thursday, working on the presentation together, being a team once again, knowing that it might be the last time. But we did it. You showed me just what to expect—right down to me klutzing it up. You know, if you hadn't warned me to keep my cool, I probably would have panicked when I fell in that waste basket. Okay, why are you looking so sneaky now?"

"Because I know something you don't. My mother told me what happened right after they fished you out."

"Nothing happened. I simply kept on with my talk."

"Yes, but the next time you turned to point at a slide, the whole Board got to see why a waste basket is called a circular file. It had left a big round impression on your skirt, a ring right around your rear end."

At that, Betty leaped up and tried fruitlessly to rotate her head far enough over her shoulder to snatch a view of her backside. A moment later, realizing she was turning in circles like a dog chasing its tail, she stopped and laughed at herself. "Wow, you are so-o cute!" exclaimed Daniel. Suddenly, he was pulling her down on the sofa beside him. "Don't worry," he added, "the circle's gone now. In fact, it had disappeared by the time you came out of the meeting. I never got to see it, more's the pity."

Up until that moment, Betty had understood in the back of her mind that Daniel had brought her here for more than a victory feast. She knew that part of his purpose was to talk about the kiss from the other evening, and where that might lead from here. But, the easy, familiar give-and-take of their dinner conversation had allowed her to put this intention of his out of her head. Now, for the first time she felt uncomfortably aware that his manner toward her had changed. She squirmed away from him on the couch, just out of his reach, hoping to postpone the topic a little longer.

"Um, when do you think Danny will get home?"

"Betty, he's not coming home tonight. He's staying with my mother."

"I see."

"Didn't we agree that once your session with the Board was behind you, we needed to talk?"

Betty sighed. "Yes," she admitted.

"So let's talk. You spoke of us being a team just now, and I've been thinking a lot about that. What we've been doing these last few years is to build a world-class, unbeatable team, and being part of that team is a lot of who I am. And we're not a team only at work, but in our lives as well—helping each other with our problems, sharing when good things happen. Nowadays when I'm at the office, there just seems to be a big hole in my world, because you're not around any more. You just can't imagine how much I miss you."

"Still, dating is not necessarily the answer to missing each other."

"No and I understand. I have to admit I've had kind of a revolving door on my bedroom, and an awful lot of those women have been purely for recreational sex. I can see how you might be reluctant to trust me in a relationship. Of course, I was genuinely fond of some of the women, but only a couple of them really captured my heart, and those affairs were disasters. I was ready to marry Sofia, and she was just playing a vicious game. And I loved Renée, too. That one was a tragedy. But she was just too damaged by the time we met for us to be able to make it work. You, on the other hand—it's different with you, Betty. I can't imagine that you could ever be a disaster for me. You're always looking out for me, always wanting the best for me, and I always want to be there for you, too, no matter how imperfectly I may succeed."

"I do want everything good for you, Daniel, but beyond that—I'm just not sure where I want this to go. And right now, I don't know what you expect me to say."

"You could tell me how _you_ feel, because that's the big question mark in all this."

"Uh-oh, that's a tough one. If there's anything I've been really bad at in my life it's getting a grasp of exactly what I feel about men and relationships. In that department I've come close to batting zero over the years."

"Well, maybe we can get to the bottom of it together." He smiled affectionately. "Teamwork, you know. Listen, don't stop to intellectualize. Just start talking and whatever wants to pop out, let it come."

"Well, I have to confess that the kiss you gave me the other night keeps creeping back into my mind. That hasn't been very convenient in the last couple days, but it sure has been a sweet escape. It's not something I ever thought about before, ever thought I wanted, even, and yet when it happened it felt like coming home. Times when I was floundering, back before my talk, I'd think of that walk in the park and what happened there and, I don't know, it just gave me the sense that there was someplace I belonged. Maybe 'someplace I belong' translates into there being somebody I belong to. Maybe that's you. Or maybe that was just meant to be a one-time thing. I don't know if I'd feel the same if it happened again."

"We could find out. Do you want to try?" A frisson of fear ran through Betty's body. Daniel laid an encouraging hand on her shoulder. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

He was right, she knew. She took a big gulp and scooched closer to him. Leaning in, she took the initiative and pressed her lips to his. He pressed back, and after a moment she felt his tongue lightly on her lips. "Mmmmm," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "You taste delicious."

"Really?" That was gratifying to hear.

"Yes, I think it's the Amarula."

"Oh." She couldn't hide a smidgen of disappointment.

"Don't frown. That's a _good_ thing. It's sweet and spicy, like you." Daniel leaned back, lounging against the armrest of the sofa. His arms slipped around her, pulling her in. She allowed herself to relax against his chest and settled into another kiss. This one lasted longer. Her partner was taking it slow, savoring it. When his tongue finally slipped into her mouth, it came not as a conquering army, but as an explorer tentatively setting forth into new territory. Finally, he pulled away and whispered, "That wasn't scary, was it?"

"No," she answered, "that was nice. But to be honest, Daniel, your tongue in my mouth—in a way, it seems kind of bizarre to me. It's so unlike the way I've always thought about you and me."

"You realize I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment right now. But do you feel ready to try seeing each other as more than friends? Just to see if you can get used to us that way?"

"I don't know. I suppose we could try."

"Good. Let's." Daniel bent his head and kissed her cheek, then descended to her neck and heard her sharp intake of breath. A moment later, he had moved on to nibble her ear. The move made Betty flinch and, putting her hands on his chest, she pushed herself away. "Whew, okay. Well, we've made a start, but I think it's time to call it quits for now. Is it all right if I phone a cab?"

Nonplussed by her abruptness, Daniel sat up straight. "Did I do something to upset you?"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"I was hoping you might stay the night."

His guest's eyes widened. "Omigod, you move fast. No, Daniel, I'm nowhere near ready. I know that kind of thing is nothing to you, but it's serious to me. Let's just agree to see each other again and leave it at that for now."

Daniel sighed. "It wouldn't be 'nothing,' not with you. But I bow to your wishes. I certainly don't want to scare you off." Standing and crossing to the intercom, he buzzed the doorman and asked him to flag a cab. Then he went to gather her coat and held it up for her to put on. As her left arm slipped into its sleeve, the charm on her watchband caught his eye. "What's that on your watch?"

Betty's heart contracted. The last thing she wanted at this moment, in this apartment, on this night, was to have anything drawing her mind back to the source of the charm. Still, she held the tiny silver circle up to let her host read the inscription. He frowned, "What does it mean?"

"'Just be'? I can't believe you haven't noticed it before. I've worn it for years. The words are a private reminder to me, and one I'm going to think about seriously between now and the next time I see you."

"Let me walk you down to the lobby, okay?"

Daniel's was one of only two penthouse apartments commandeering the top floor of the building, and the elevator was only a few steps from his door. As the elevator doors slid shut and they started their descent, he said, "Well, I think it's been a fruitful evening. I hope you're glad you came here."

His companion nodded and smiled. "Sweet dreams, then, Betty," and with that he leaned down for a goodbye kiss. "No!" her refusal rang out clearly, startling him. She herself was taken aback by the vehemence of her own response. Observing his confusion and hurt, she squeezed his arm reassuringly. "I'm sorry, It's not you. I just don't kiss in elevators."

"What, is that some kind of claustrophobia thing?"

"Something like that," she decided not to explain further. "Anyway, thank you for a lovely evening. It's given me a lot to mull over." At that, the elevator touched down and opened, affording a view of the building's glass front doors and, through them, a yellow cab waiting at the curb. Betty headed for the entrance, then stopped to wave back at Daniel. A moment later she was gone.

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

Ensconced in the back seat of the taxi, Betty recalled the incident in the elevator a few minutes before with chagrin. She recognized that her reaction to Daniel's attempt at a kiss there made no sense after all these years. She had felt too foolish to tell him that her elevator kisses belonged to somebody else, and now she worried that she had hurt Daniel's feelings. After all, weren't his feelings what mattered now? At this late date, whom she kissed, and where, could hardly be of concern to that other person, the one she would probably never even see again. The one who had abandoned her and gone off to start his life somewhere else, with God only knows who. And yet, she was finding it hard to let go of this tiny gesture that had signified something between them. She sighed, wondering why that was, and if it would ever be thus.

_A couple forced to confine their trysting to public venues nevertheless discovers pockets in the fabric of their lives for moments of privacy, even intimacy. _

_Two days after executing their revenge on Marc and Amanda, Gio and Betty decided to venture out for their first breakfast date away from the Mode cafeteria. On their way back to their respective workplaces, they spotted a tiny old woman, obviously confused, wandering in the middle of the street. Oblivious that she was in harm's way, she dawdled there until cars began screeching to a stop around her, the drivers honking and shouting. As the honking crescendoed, she became frightened and angry, and began banging her pocketbook on the hoods of the vehicles hemming her in. _

_Ever gallant, Gio strode into the melée to lead her to safety. Suddenly a cab in a hurry, unaware of the reason that traffic had come to a standstill, decided to mount the sidewalk and advance aggressively around the SVU ahead of him, scattering pedestrians before him. Gio spotted the taxi emerging rapidly from behind the SVU and bearing down on his fragile-looking companion. Reacting fast, he swung her around, placing his own body between her and danger. The cabby, now realizing a collision was imminent, hammered frantically on the horn of his car and braked sharply, finally halting only inches behind Gio. _

_At this point, more confused and excited than ever, the little lady turned her fury towards her savior, and started raining down blows on his head with her purse. Tears were running down her cheeks. Thinking quickly, Gio grabbed her right hand and slipped his other arm around her back. "Come on, sweetheart, let's dance." She calmed down at once, and looking up at him trustingly, allowed him to waltz her around. Gradually by this means he twirled her back to the sidewalk and safety. A patrolman who had in the meantime been drawn by the commotion now approached and led away Gio's elderly dance partner._

_Betty ran to her friend as he stood on the sidewalk, rubbing his battered head. "Omigod, Gio, she looked like she was really hurting you! Who'd have guessed such a frail little arm could pack such a wallop? Are you all right?"_

"_Sure. I'm solid as a rock up there," he assured her genially, knocking on his skull to indicate its sturdiness. "But I have to say, I've gained a whole new respect for Boy Scouts this morning. Come on, I'll walk you up to your office." With that, he performed a little jig and offered her his arm._

_Impressed by Gio's offhand dismissal of his own bravery, Betty felt her heart swelling as she walked beside him. Finding an empty elevator parked in the Meade lobby, they entered together and she turned toward the hero, preparing to express her admiration privately as soon as the doors closed on them. However, at the last minute, a hand came snaking through the narrowing gap between the doors and forced them open again. Enter Kenny from Accounting, chomping an apple. "Hi guys," he mumbled. "What's up?"_

"_Um, we gotta go. It's all yours," called Betty as she grabbed Gio's arm and tugged him back out into the lobby. _

"_Why did you make me get out?" _

"_Kenny was talking with his mouth full. Ugh," replied Betty. Gio gave her a puzzled look. "Just kidding," she added. "You'll see."_

_When the next elevator arrived, she dragged him aboard and pounded on the "CLOSE" button until they were enveloped in the car, utterly alone. Spinning around, she took a moment to drink in her companion's beautiful eyes, then caught him off guard by slipping her arms around his neck and sealing his lips with a heartfelt kiss. "You were wonderful out there," she murmured. Gio asked no more questions. Finding himself locked unexpectedly in the embrace of the woman he wanted so badly, he brought his own arms up to enfold her, closed his eyes and kissed her back, yielding to a fever of adoration until the bell announced their arrival at her floor. They had traveled up 28 stories in __uninterrupted bliss, a rare and treasured opportunity. At the end of their journey, Betty slipped away to her office. After uttering a hoarse goodbye, Gio shook off his reverie and descended again to street level, caught up in a melange of happiness and frustration._

_From that day on, without ever discussing it, the breakfast companions had fallen into the habit of loitering to catch a vacant elevator when traveling up or down. If other people were waiting, too, then they would wave them on and pass up the ride until one came along which could offer solitude. Sometimes they used their seclusion to steal a lingering kiss. Sometimes they hugged furtively, pressing their bodies close against each other, reveling in the warmth, fighting the physical longing that came with it. Sometimes, Gio would simply stroke her hair and gaze into her eyes wordlessly and so lovingly that she felt she might melt into a puddle on the floor. But always, before they knew it—sometimes after only a single floor had passed—the gong inside the elevator was ringing and their ascent was slowing to a halt, forcing them to part and face forward, announcing anew their banishment from the ephemeral oasis they had created in their workaday world. _

_Thus it was that elevators had become their "thing," one of those little traditions that every couple develops, a ritual that binds them by virtue of being shared by just the two of them. For Betty, the elevator sojourns afforded a safe haven within which she could give vent to the emotions this man called forth in her. She cherished the intimacy of those rides and yet welcomed their brevity, for it allowed her to contain feelings that scared her because she didn't trust or understand them. She supposed Gio, for his part, had been grateful to enjoy a certain closeness with her while he waited in hopes that their relationship would soon progress._

Alone in the cab, Betty tugged at her hair until her scalp hurt. Why, why, why, this night of all nights, did Daniel have to go in for a smooch on the way down from his apartment? Why did he have to summon these images that she no longer had use for? Betty was beginning to wonder whether there was some purpose of fate that kept forcing Gio back into her consciousness over the last few days. Undoubtedly, the fact that she was moving ahead on her five-year plan had something to do with it. But perhaps these lapses into the past also had to do with the decision she was facing about her former boss. After all, she was again finding herself drawn toward a relationship with a friend and at the same time frightened by it. Once again, she didn't understand what she wanted. She had chosen wrong before. Was Gio haunting her now to prevent her from repeating that mistake? What did "JUST BE" mean in this case? She was beginning to realize how riddled with ambiguity that admonition was.

Grateful to arrive at her apartment building, Betty decided to let the events of the day ferment in her mind while she caught a good night's sleep. Perhaps the dawn would bring her the answers that were eluding her in the dark.


	12. My Dream

Chapter 12

~ My Dream ~

_Gripping a lantern, Betty trudged through damp grass up the low hill to where seven smooth white tombstones were arrayed under the full moon. A solitary gravedigger was shoveling dirt at the crest of the knoll, beside a bare grave marker that gleamed in the moonlight. Betty approached the gravedigger as he bent to his toil, his back turned to her. "Pardon my asking, but who lies buried under these stones?"_

_The man with the shovel straightened and looked around to see who had addressed him. Betty blanched as she observed his head covered with a black hood. He fixed two sorrowful eyes on her through holes cut out of the dark cloth. Through a third hole, little more than a slash, his mouth replied, "These are all that remain of the romances of a woman named Suarez. I can't tell you anything about them. In fact, I've long been curious to learn how they met their ends." _

"_Then all her lovers died?" His visitor gazed back at him in dismay._

"_No, not the men themselves, but the relationships—those are stone cold dead, never to return."_

"_Ah, I know the woman of whom you speak. Perhaps I can satisfy your curiosity, if I can read the engravings on the markers."_

"_The first grave I dug was down here in this gulley," Dragging his shovel with him, the doleful workman made his way down to a marker inscribed, First Boyfriend._

"_That has to be Walter," his informant told him. "He and Betty—that's the Suarez woman's name—came together when they were very young. He was the first one to take an interest in her, and she was fond of him for that. Her family liked him, too, and she was fond of him for that, also. But then he cheated on her with that tramp Gina Gambarro, and she found she was not so fond as all that."_

"_And what about this one over here? This inscription makes me sad, for it must have been sweet while it lasted."_

_Betty raised her lantern to read what was written there. "First Love? That was Henry. And, yes, she adored him, but they were doomed from the start. You see, he had a child with another woman, to whom he eventually returned. Everyone deserves one tragic, star-crossed romance to make their life interesting, don't you think? This one had just the right pinch of angst, but was leavened by a happy ending. You see, afterwards they became friends."_

_An owl hooted overhead as Betty scampered over to the next nearest grave, and gestured for her gloomy companion to follow. "This must be Jesse," she told him. "See how it says, The Crush? He was a guitarist who cast a magic spell over Betty and turned her into a teeny-bopper fangirl, screaming after him at rock concerts. He played hard-to-get but she played hard-to-shake and eventually bagged him. Then he dumped her, and she got a life lesson out of it."_

"_Dumped Betty? She seems to have roped them in, man after man. I never imagined she could be dumped, poor girl."_

"_It came as a surprise to her, too," said Betty, grumpily._

" _Anyway, who's The Blind Date?"_

"_Rudy was a plumber from Jersey. Betty's sister Hilda fixed them up. Hilda was so pleased with herself. Rudy loved sports—he ate, drank and breathed them. And of course Betty was all about sports—NOT! Still, she kept dating him to make her sister happy, and Rudy stuck with her because he was scared of Hilda. But when she caught herself having sex with him just because they couldn't find anything to talk about, that's when Betty put her foot down and ended it."_

"_Oh my God, Betty was a slut?"_

"_I guess she was a little whorish, just that once. But she made up for it by never sleeping with The Project. When she first met Phil he lacked self-confidence. He was shy, he was pudgy and she felt sorry for him. So she built up his ego until he was the powerhouse real estate mogul he'd dreamed of being, and then she found she couldn't stand him. He has a trophy girlfriend now, but actually I think he's gay, which he'll probably figure out when he's about forty."_

"_And lastly, here's The Waste. What about him?"_

"_Sad story there. The only man who ever fell in love with Betty for her looks. He thought she was a work of art. Now, keep in mind that his taste in art ran to Cubism. Lucas had so much going for him—looks, charm, talent, wit, sensuality. If only he hadn't lacked a purpose in life and a moral compass." Betty swung around now and faced her guide. "But why did you say lastly? What about the grave you were working on when I arrived?" She headed back up to where she had first encountered the gravedigger._

"_Well, I'm scooping out a hole, but the coffin hasn't turned up here yet. There seems to be some doubt as to whether that one's actually passed on."_

"_That must be for Daniel. We're only just starting out as a couple, and maybe we'll end up making it work. If so, you can fill in the hole again."_

"_That's not whose grave it is. In fact, Daniel Meade's waiting for the other affairs to be laid to rest for good." The gravedigger leaned upon his shovel and tugged off his hood, revealing the face of Betty's former boss and current suitor._

"_Daniel! Doing actual hard physical labor?" Betty scratched her head and stared at him in wonderment. "All right, this grave's not for you. But why is there no inscription, then?"_

"_There is an inscription. Walk around and look at the other side." _

_In the distance, a wolf began to howl as Betty scrambled to the far side of the tombstone. Her face crumpled as the lantern exposed what was engraved there. "Oh no. The coffin may be late in arriving, but keep on digging that hole. This one's gone for good." Her hand reached out and gently traced the lettering cut into the smooth, alabaster surface. It read, The Guy._

Splinters of the sun's early rays pricked Betty out of her fog of sleep. She puckered her brow and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes to disperse the sleepy winkers. "Hmph," she grunted to herself. "If I was hoping that daybreak would bring some clarity about Daniel, that dream only made the situation seem murkier than ever. What is going on with my subconscious?" But later, brushing her teeth, she had an epiphany. "Omigod, somewhere deep inside I must have known it all along—Phil is gay. Who knew?" Not the light bulb moment she'd been hoping for, but sometimes you take what you can get.

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

Danny turned his key in the penthouse front lock, pushed the door ajar, and scanned the living room for the detritus of late-night frolicking and debauchery. Failing to observe any, he sauntered into the kitchen to find his father lounging in a bathrobe, eating cereal and reading a newspaper. Again, the son took a swift look around, ears cocked for any sound of movement from the apartment's interior.

"What are you doing?" asked the father. "What are you searching for?"

"Is Betty still here?"

"Betty? No, she went home last night."

The younger Meade scowled, crestfallen. "What happened? Did you make her mad?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because she's not here!"

"Son, I told you we were dining here last night—that means _eating_. It was a dinner to celebrate, that's all. What, do you think every time a man and woman socialize after 7 P.M., they're always going to wind up in bed? Because if you do, you're in for a lot of cruel shocks and cold midnight showers."

"No, not always_,_ but this was Betty. I thought that the whole point . . . What, you didn't even ask her?"

Daniel's eyes slid to one side uncomfortably.

"Ha! You did!" cried Danny. "And she turned you down. I knew you'd blow this. Dad, you've got to learn to be smoother. You know—charming."

Daniel's mouth fell open, appalled. "Why you little whippersnapper! You think you can teach me how to seduce women? I was seducing women when you were just a gleam in your fath-, that is, in _my_ eye. Which, by the way, proves my point."

His son rolled his eyes and sighed scornfully.

"Danny, why are you so anxious for me to sleep with Betty?"

"I just think you'd be good together—you know, as a couple. Then she'd be around here more. She'd be family, sort of. I mean, I still talk to her at work, but now that she's my official boss it's just not the same."

"I get it. Look, Danny, if it helps, the two of us did discuss seeing each other. We're going to try to find out if we could have a relationship that's more than friends. But, there's a kind of woman you have to learn to go slow with, and Betty's one of those. Yeah, I know," he nodded wryly, seeing Danny's disgusted frown. "Going slow is a hard lesson to remember. It's not necessarily fun, but sometimes it's important. You may find that out someday."

Daniel reached over and clapped an affectionate hand on his son's arm. "I'm a bit worried about you, though," he continued. "Nothing's been decided between me and Betty, and you seem almost as invested in this as I am. You've got to be prepared that it might not work out between us. But also remember, she loves you. You're not going to lose her as a friend, no matter what."

"I know, I know, I know," the boy replied impatiently. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Everyone? Who's everyone?"

"Well, Annette."

His father cocked an eyebrow. "The girl with the braces?"

"Yeah, I was just talking to her about it because she's a friend of Betty's, too. . . . Oh, that reminds me. Dad, I wanted to ask if there's any way I could get some private coaching on my baseball skills for awhile. Now, that I'm kicked out of St. Lucius, I'm not getting much chance to keep in shape."

"Sure, I think I can come up with some ideas. But how did we jump from Annette to baseball?"

"It's nothing much, really. She was just mentioning how I might lose my edge, not being on a team right now. I know it's not even baseball season at the moment, but if you love the game, there's always something you could be doing to get better."

Daniel grunted approvingly, "Huh. Okay. Well, you could start by using that gym membership I shelled out for last Spring."

"I'm already doing that. I stopped by yesterday noon, and I'm going to start working out there regularly at least three days a week. But I need to find a way to tune up my pitching, too."

"I'll see what I can come up with. And I have to say, I'm liking your new attitude. I think you just may be growing up at last, Danny Boy."

Danny grabbed the cereal box and pulled up a chair next to his father's. "Yeah, thanks. And, Dad, keep plugging away at the Betty situation, will you? Even if it means you can't play around any more, I think she'd be good for both of us. Maybe it's time for you to grow up, too."

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

"Marc, what are you doing here?" Standing at the door of her condo in a white satin robe, her sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, Wilhelmina Slater looked not at all pleased to greet her most loyal disciple. "What's the matter with you? It's Saturday, and it's not even noon yet."

Marc checked his watch. "Oh my God, I'm a barbarian. It's only 11:42. So sorry."

"Today's not even a work day. What do you need to see me for, anyway?"

"I just wanted to bring you these!" Marc stooped and picked up an antique Imari bowl in which were rooted three huge white lilies in bloom. This offering he held out to his idol at arm's length. "Lilies rare for a Willi fair."

"What? Did I die and nobody told me? Why are you bringing me funeral flowers? What are you up to? You must want something."

"Oh, all right. I admit it. I have to tell you that I can't join you for Thanksgiving dinner. I have another invitation."

"Do tell." Wilhelmina's formidable raised eyebrow could have turned back the British at Bunker Hill.

Her underling trembled a little, but was undeterred. "You see, Cliffy asked me over for an intimate turkey dinner. And, Willi, I really, really want to go. Please, please, please."

"Cliff's back in the picture, is he? So over the river and through the woods to Heffalump's house you go? And who am I supposed to spend the holiday with? I already placed my order with the caterer. My father's not speaking to me. Nico's not speaking to me. Big thinks he has to be with what's her name, the other woman."

Marc wrinkled his nose. "The other woman—isn't that, kind of, _you?_"

"Whoa, look at you, the brave man, standing up to me! You know, I find courage a very distasteful quality in a man. Especially an employee."

"No, no. No courage. Just a little harmless twitting. I promise, I'm still a sniveling coward. I just need you to let me alone for this one day, pleeeeeze."

"I don't think Cliff's a good influence on you. You always come back from your dates all twinkly and agreeable and full of the milk of human kindness. What if I say no?"

Her deputy scowled and pushed the flowers into her hands. Pulling at his chin, he turned and paced a few steps back, then turned again and squared his shoulders to face her. "Very well, I was wondering when to tell you this. Maybe now's just the right time. Your sister's back in the city. I saw her last night coming out of the Meade building."

Rarely could Marc ruffle his boss's steely composure, but for once she was taken aback. "Meade Publishing—who could Renée have been visiting there? Marc, this is ominous news. I haven't figured out yet how she managed to get sprung from Thornbush, but I was hoping at least she'd slink away somewhere and hide." Lost in thought, Willi strode back into her hallway, deposited the flowers on a table near the entrance and sat on the lower end of the stairway leading to the upper story. Marc followed her inside and stood nearby, leaning against the wall.

"Well," she continued, "at least, I now have some idea how to find her. That should make it easier to figure out a way to neutralize her, if I can't actually manage to get her committed again right off."

An unaccustomed expression of sober consideration took hold of Marc's features. He looked away from his hostess, looked down, and looked back her way, drumming his fingers against the thigh of his smartly tailored trousers. "Look here, why do you have to neutralize her? As far as we know, she's never put it together what we did to her. Maybe you should take this as an opportunity for a family reunion."

"But we don't know that she hasn't figured it out, do we? And even if not yet, who knows who or what might tip her off in the future? Marc, I really want you to get to work helping me think of a way to contain her."

"No."

Willi shook her head. "I think I must not have heard you correctly."

He straightened, towering over her. "What we did to your sister was beyond wrong. We took a mentally ill woman and filled her prescription bottle with placebos to replace the pills that were keeping her sane. Then we let her wreak havoc and take the punishment for it. And, Willi, she was your own flesh and blood. She's paid for it for years. If I were to take it any further than I have already, I couldn't live with myself. I have a hard enough time even now facing what I did."

"Come on. Buck up, for pity's sake. Do you think I don't feel bad about that? Do you think I have no conscience? Marc, you and I both have to remember, Renée was getting too close to our mortal enemy. She and Daniel were falling in love. We played the hand that was dealt us and let the chips fall where they needed to. We had no other choice."

"I don't see it like that. In fact, I'd rather go to prison than sink any lower than I already have."

Willi stood and faced him. He was truly alarming her. "Prison? Please don't even go there in your head."

"Why not? If I can't be with the one I love, I might as well give myself up and be incarcerated. Cleanse my soul of guilt and all that, you know."

Wilhelmina nodded. "I see, this is your pathetic attempt at extortion. Oh, very well, yawn, yawn. Go romp with your little Cliffy. But realize this—you're playing a dangerous game."

Marc nodded. "I know." As he strode out of the foyer, the front door slammed behind him. A sardonic smile passed over his lips. "And it's actually rather exhilarating."

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

"Betty, I hadn't heard from you, so I thought I'd call. Do you want to get together tonight? I was thinking Danny could join us. He's been missing you over the last couple weeks, you know."

"I'd love to, Daniel, but I can't. My family is coming over for supper tonight. We planned it several days ago. I'd ask you to come, too, but I need to lay some groundwork before I spring our possible new relationship on them. I'm sorry about Danny, though. I'll make sure to carve out a little time for him next week. He's not the only one who's missed our talks."

"You know, he just told me today he's going to start brushing up his baseball skills, in the off-season yet. Without even a coach around to badger him into it. I really think maturity may be creeping up on the lad. Oh, and, by the way, your little assistant Annette seemed to have something to do with it."

"That's nice. I've noticed they're getting along better now, after he went and apologized to her."

"He did that? Good for him. I'm proud of him. Only I'm wondering, should I be worried? Could this be building up to another of his girl-crazy screw-ups?"

"With Annette? No way. They may be developing some sort of friendship, but if so, it's strictly platonic. There's no attraction at all, at least on Danny's part. That's something I can guarantee."

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

Annette watched Cliff pouring a steaming cascade of cocoa into a styrofoam cup for her, and reached out for it greedily. The sides of the cup imparted a welcome warmth to her hands. They were standing in a small park that _Mode_ had reserved to shoot a feature on winter coats for the January issue, and the temperature had dropped precipitously over the afternoon.

"Drink up, Annette. You're shivering in that flimsy jacket. Go grab one of the coats we're done photographing, will you please? You can borrow that Joanna Mastroianni for today. And next time we come out, you should remember to wear something warmer."

"Maybe not next time, but I'm working on that. I should have thought to wear another layer or two."

"You don't have a winter coat?"

"I'm pretty sure my mother's getting me one for Christmas. In the meantime, I'll manage."

Cliff shook his head unhappily. Christmas was still weeks away, but it was none of his business. At the moment, he had to worry about wrapping up today's scheduled work. "Look here, I was hoping to get the last two sets of photos shot before we lose the daylight, but it's pretty clear I'll only have time for one. The shots I really have to make sure not to miss are that Kenneth Cole green suede coat Helga's wearing and the Jeffrey Chow plaid number on Hannah. So, after you bundle up in one of those other coats, go set those two models up with the two-seater bicycle for me, will you?"

"Sure. And should I tell Shula she may as well take off, if we're not going to fit her in?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. The bulky lambs wool jacket she's got on is by a new designer who's not real well known yet, and it looks like she's not going to become any better known for the time being. . . . No, wait, I have an idea. Just so this opportunity doesn't go to waste, why don't you take this camera and, just for fun, see what you can come up with working with Shula on the skateboard? Not for the magazine, you understand, but I'd like to see what you can do, and perhaps I can start giving you a few pointers. That is, if you'd like to."

"Getting paid to play? Well, let me think. Hmmm." A broad stainless-steel grin erupted on Annette's face. "Yes, I believe I can live with that. Thanks, Mr. St. Paul."

Three quarters of an hour later, Cliff and his helper were packing up his van in the gathering dusk.

"Unless you don't want to talk about it, Annette, I was wondering how you're getting along these days having to work around Danny. Are you taking my advice and keeping your distance?"

"As it turns out, that's not necessary. He actually came and said he was sorry for his behavior the day you saw us together. But you were right. I thought about it, and realized that I'm not really his type. Danny goes for the flashy ones, the girls who are so pretty that everyone notices when they walk in a room. Let's face it, there are plenty of those around _Mode,_ but I'm not one."

"Aw, you don't appreciate just how cute you are—especially in that Mastroianni. Danny's father dates a lot of stunners who are all fluff upstairs," Cliff noted, pointing to his noggin, "And I suppose like father, like son. But take it from me, some guy is going to fall hard some day."

"Oh, I don't know about that, but you're right about Danny, and I'm glad you helped me figure it out. After I accepted the fact—which was painful, I admit—we started getting along better, somehow. Realizing he's never going to notice me that way made me relax with him. Now we're actually getting to know each other as friends, and I don't mind the other so much. I'm comfortable with it. He's a good kid. So I guess things ended up better for me than for you and your friend."

Cliff glanced at his helper sheepishly. "To tell the truth, Marc and I may be coming to an understanding, too. I asked him to Thanksgiving dinner, and we're going to talk. I'm not hoping for much, or at least I'm trying not to, but there's a small chance we could get back together."

"Then he turned out to be not so bad, either."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Cliff half-laughed, half-grimaced. "Marc is a naughty one, no doubt about it, and he always will be. Unfortunately for me, naughty can be pretty irresistible."


	13. What Hurts the Most

Chapter 13

~ What Hurts the Most ~

As soon as Betty unlocked it, the door to her apartment flew open and a whirlwind named Hilda swept into the living room.

"Where's the new Editor? Omigod, you look so smart and in-charge now." Hilda pinched her baby sister's cheeks, gathering up big chunks of flesh between her thumbs and forefingers and shaking them. "You have that air of authority, Betty. When do you get to start bossing people around?"

Betty replied, "Um, next week, I guess. We have to start hiring the staff for _Cuisine_ right away."

"Oh, you're going to have so much fun. I would _love_ to have people to boss around."

Justin, strolling in behind his mother with a large tureen, spoke up, "Believe me, she would love it. She's been practicing on me all day. Congratulations on the magazine, by the way, Aunt Betty. Where do you want this? It's the _caldo tlalpeño_."

"The soup! You made this, Hilda? It smells heavenly. Put it on the kitchen counter, will you, Justin? And leave the door unlocked for Papi. The doorman buzzed him up right after you, and he should be here soon."

"I was at the hardware store yesterday," announced the senior Suarez sister, "and guess who was asking for you? Rudy Sokolowski! He was buying some pipes. They looked expensive—I think he's doing quite well. Betty, he's such a handsome guy, and I think he still likes you."

"Yeah, he's kind of good-looking. Which is why he has a girlfriend, Hilda."

"No, he says they broke up. And then he looks me straight in the eye and says 'What's Betty up to these days?' I swear he's still interested."

"I hate to break it to you, Hilda, but Rudy was never that interested. Spending time with a lady who didn't know a post-up from a goalpost was not his idea of fun."

"Hmph, well I told him you're spoken for, anyway."

Ignacio, pressing through the front door bearing dessert in his hands, caught the tail end of the conversation. "Betty's spoken for? What does that mean?"

"Yeah, what does that mean, Aunt Betty? Are you dating somebody?" asked Justin.

Betty scowled at Hilda. "Well, later I was going to tell—"

"Daniel kissed her!" Hilda couldn't contain herself. "Oh, Papi, that looks delicious. Justin, take your grandfather's _tres leches_ cake to the kitchen."

"Wait! Wait!" Not a minute in the door, and Ignacio's blood pressure was already rising. "Daniel and you were kissing, Betty? This is just what I was worried about. Daniel Meade is not the kind of man I think you should be with. We talked about that the other day."

"Yeah, Aunt Betty," Justin, returning from the kitchen, put his two cents in. "Your ex-boss is a nice guy, but he _is_ kind of a slut."

Their hostess pulled herself up to her full 5 feet and 1 inch. "Well, thank you all for your unsolicited opinions. I was hoping to lead up to this over dinner, but it's true. Daniel and I have decided to start seeing each other, to find out whether we have feelings which amount to more than friendship. Now, Papi, you know you're always mistrustful when I start dating any man. Daniel's quite prepared to undergo any grilling you want to give him."

"Not 'always.'" Ignacio lowered himself into an easy chair. He was wrapped up in his own memories now. "Though it's true I never cared much for that Phil."

Betty gestured for her other guests to help themselves to the sofa, as she plunked herself down on an ottoman by her father. "Okay, maybe you were right in Phil's case. I ended up not caring much for him myself."

"But you liked Rudy, Papi, didn't you?" inserted Hilda. "I fixed them up," she added smugly.

"Hmm, that one I don't remember all that well. I do remember Henry. He was nice, and I'll always be grateful he talked you into coming to my naturalization ceremony. But again, he bothered me, getting you embroiled in a relationship when he had that baby on the way. And I was right. He broke your heart. You don't know how hard it is on an old man to hear his little girl sobbing into her pillow for days and nights on end."

"Then there was Gio," Hilda piped up. "Oh, I know he wasn't really your boyfriend, Betty—more of a rebound guy—but, Papi, you did like him when Betty was hanging out with him that Spring after Henry left. You even taught him to make _cemitas_ for his sandwich business. You didn't get all in _his_ face over Betty, did you?"

"As it turned out, maybe I should have. It's true I liked him . . . but then he let me down. In fact, he might have been a good match for you if he had gone about it the right way. But when you were on the rebound, and he tried to whisk you away to romance you in Italy so he could seduce you—that was wrong. I said at the time I'd accept whatever decision you made, and I was right to support your freedom to choose. But I'm glad you decided in the end that a trip to Italy was not worth the cost."

During the two months before he went away, Gio had come for supper two or three Saturday nights, and each time had made a point of joining Betty's father in the kitchen during the meal preparation. The older man had been flattered by the deli owner's interest in his cooking lore and had happily shared it. In deference to Betty's wishes, Gio had refrained from obvious displays of affection in front of her family, patiently waiting for the gooey gazes and warm kisses to be exchanged when they retired alone to the porch at the end of the evening. Thus Ignacio had developed the impression that the deli owner came to see him as much as his daughter. So his initial reaction when Betty had announced their plans to travel together had been of shock and betrayal.

"But you forgave Gio," said Betty quietly.

"Well, I could understand how a hot-blooded young fellow could be tempted, just as you yourself were. Besides, it's hard to stay angry with a guy who's not around any more. Once he was gone, it occurred to me I was actually a bit sorry that neither of you two girls ever gave him a serious chance. But I suppose you can't force your heart where it doesn't want to go."

His last words startled Betty a little, as they struck a chord in her mind. Forcing my heart, is that what I'm doing with Daniel? she pondered. But she quickly pushed any misgiving out of her head and addressed Ignacio, "So, what about Daniel? Will you give _him_ a chance?"

"It makes sense that that boy would be drawn to you, Mija, working side-by-side all these years, seeing how wonderful you are. Still, he couldn't do anything about it while he was your boss, so until now it never occurred to me to worry. But you and I both know his reputation with women, and know it's well deserved. And it also concerns me that this is so sudden. I never saw any signs before that he was interested in you that way."

"Frankly," admitted Betty, "Neither did I, and I really wasn't attracted to him, either. Or at least that's what I thought, even though objectively I could see he's very attractive."

"So, all at once, what changed?" Her father had asked the question, but all three sets of eyes were now focused on Betty intently.

"I can't explain it. Daniel and I came to this crossroads, I guess, and we realized that everything is harder when we're not there supporting each other, sharing whatever's happening in our lives. Are you asking me whether I'm sure it will work out? The answer is, No. How can anyone be sure at the start? But I have to consider how I'd feel later if I don't give us a chance. Will I always wonder? Will I realize too late that he was the one, and regret it forever? You can find a way to live with those kinds of feelings, but it can leave some pretty deep scars on your heart. This time I think I have to open myself up to the possibilities."

"What do you mean 'this time,' Aunt Betty?"

Hilda slapped her son gently, "Shhhh, she probably is thinking of Lucas. Don't bring it up."

"No, not Lucas. In fact, I was thinking . . . " For a moment, she was tempted to reveal to her family the pain she had nursed herself through four years ago when Gio had abandoned her. For some reason she was finding it hurtful for them to so misunderstand what had been a crucial event in her life. What harm could it do now to finally tell the truth? But she soon thought better of it. It was too late for them to comfort her, and it might make them feel worse, knowing she'd shut them out. "Oh, never mind, who knows what I was thinking? I just don't want to have any regrets about Daniel."

Her father shook his head. "What you're suggesting is allying our family to the Meades. As I've said in the past, they are trouble. Their ways are not ours."

"In some ways they _are_ like us. They're loyal to each other, and would stand together to demolish anyone who hurt any of the others. We're like that, too. But allying the families? You're jumping the gun there. You make it sound as if Daniel and I were tying the knot tomorrow. Believe me, we're still a long way from anything official or permanent."

"Yes, Papi," piped up Hilda. "It sounds like they're just in an exploratory phase."

Ignacio was clearly not mollified. "_Valgame Dios! Un hombre no debería de tener hijas nunca. No hacen más que matarle antes de tiempo."_

Hilda stood up, her eyes flashing. "Oh cheer up. You know you love having daughters and wouldn't trade us in for anything. In the meantime, my soup's sure to be cold by now. What did you make for tonight, Betty? I'm starved."

"Just a simple fruit salad. Let's start on that while the soup is reheating. Come on, Papi," Betty added. "We can hash my love life out later, if you insist. Right now I'm famished, too—_y_ _cuando se tiene hambre, a veces el estomago se interpone al corazón."_

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

"Thanks for helping load the dishwasher, guys." "Our pleasure, Mija, we're all proud of you." "Papi, thank you for the slice of cake for Jamal. Too bad he had to work tonight." "Goodnight, Hilda and Justin. Goodnight, Papi. I'm so happy you could come."

Betty felt exhausted when she finally closed the door behind her departing family. Thank goodness Hilda needed to get back to relieve her babysitter. It had been wonderful to celebrate her career success again for a third time, this time with the people who had loved her best and longest. And she also felt relieved to have unburdened herself of the news about herself and Daniel Meade, for she had been dreading that. But they were excitable people, every one of them, and sometimes their very presence could wear her out.

Besides, she had been thinking all day about how she had left things with Daniel the night before, and she needed to get back to that. If anything, hearing her relatives' thoughts on the subject had given her even more to mull over.

Hilda had used the words "exploratory phase" to describe their new relationship, and at first those words sounded delightful—they suggested hope, discovery, new beginnings. But now it occurred to her when she had heard those words before: she herself had used them to describe those weeks when she and Gio had first come together, weeks that had turned out to be all they would ever share. Back then, "exploration" had seemed a happy idea, a stage to linger at and luxuriate in.

She had thought she had all the time she needed to make up her mind. She could guess where they were headed, but as long as she had postponed a decision, the pressure was off. Gio wanted her, of that she had felt secure, and would be there whenever she felt ready to move forward. She herself had just needed to be sure. Her past with Henry—the sorrow, the longing, the twinge of guilt—all that had still been fresh in her mind. And what she had with Gio was so new. If she and her pickle guy were truly meant to be, they had had the rest of their lives ahead of them. Why burden him with her own doubts and deliberations until she had figured it out? Better not to give anything away, or to let him hope or assume too much until she had decided for both of them.

Suddenly, Betty felt the urge to do something she had not done for well over a year. She grabbed one of the chairs from her dining area, carried it to the coat closet and stood on it. Rummaging around on the overhead shelf, she soon unearthed a covered basket she kept secreted there. Lifting it down from its perch, she bore it to the dining table and removed its lid. What she sought there was an affirmation that an extended period of exploring was indeed wise and worthwhile. She wanted to prove to herself that she had done right in holding Daniel off last night, that she was not being foolish or unfair.

Quickly, she pulled out various stray objects lodged in the basket—a book, a CD, a softball, a napkin, a tiny jewelry box—and at last unearthed the object of her quest: a photograph of Gio clad in a brilliant blue T-shirt, taken by Betty at the happiest moment of her life. It came as a shock to her to realize how indistinct his image must have grown in her recollections, for now it jolted her to view vividly and anew, in stunning colors, his luminous eyes, the radiance of his smile, the sheer beauty of his countenance at that instant when his fondest dream drew within reach. Reliving for an inkling that moment, her heart rose into her throat as she murmured, "Oh my God, oh my love, my love."

_That very morning, they had fallen into one of their usual routines. He had dared to call them a couple, and once again as in the past she had scolded him, "We're not a couple yet." It was another of their "things." So was the bit where he complained for the umpteenth time that their daily breakfasts together were not "real dates" and she would insist that they were. _

_What she had known then and he had not was that, just the day before, the issue of Hot Flash which had been consuming most of her spare hours over the last few weeks had finally gone to press. Today it would be on its way to newsstands across the country, and she herself would get to see the maiden launch of her own words in print. From here on out, her evenings would be her own again and she had decided finally to grant him what he had waited patiently for: time with her all alone, for hours, not in a cafeteria, not in an elevator, not in her very public office at Mode, not in her living room with her whole family looking on, but wherever he wanted. Just the two of them._

"_So, when do I get to take you on a real date?"_

_She had heard this refrain often before, and again she responded, "Soon." But just as she prepared to expand on that by revealing to him her decision, he dropped a bombshell: he was going to Italy for a month. Right away. A month sounded like a long time, but on quick reflection she realized it wasn't really. It sounded like a step he needed to take for his career, and when he got back, they could pick up from where things were left between them, and finally make the leap to becoming a "couple."_

_Knowing he would be gone so soon, she eagerly agreed to share a second meal with him that day. She didn't want to waste a minute before they had to part. But then he dismayed her by introducing what to her in fact promised to be a profound waste of time. He wanted to squander their lunch hour teaching her the basics of softball, so they could play together in the Mode-Elle game that weekend. She had resisted, she had whined. But then he had pushed her buttons: he had accused her of playing it safe. Knowing the attempt would be fruitless, she nevertheless acceded to a spell of batting practice and, lo and behold, she finally hit the ball. Hit it? Hell yes, she nailed it. She was a slugger. As he pitched more balls and she connected again and again, her excitement knew no bounds._

"_See what happens when you say yes?" asked her pitcher._

"_Yes!" she shouted, whacking another one through the air._

"_Come to Rome with me."_

"_Yes! Wait, what?" In her confusion, she had popped the latest ball straight up and it was now in freefall, aimed straight at her noggin. _

_The next thing she knew, Gio was tackling her to the ground, moving her out of harm's way. As he lay above her, straddling her, he asked her again, begging in his heart for her to give the same answer as before. "I want us to have the most romantic first date ever, and what could be more romantic than Rome? What do you say?"_

_It only took a second for her to flood his world with sunshine: "Yes! Yes, I'll go to Rome!"_

_Gio hardly believed his ears. He hadn't really expected this, he had only hoped. Leaning down, he kissed her—quickly so as not to lose his balance and crush her. Then he drew back on his haunches and pulled out his cell phone._

_Imprisoned beneath him, Betty frowned. "Who are you calling?"_

"_Nobody," he answered. "I just want to save this moment for eternity." And with that, he took a picture. And then another. And then another. Then he showed them to her—portraits of a girl in the grass with her hands flung out beside her head, the sun gleaming off braces in a mouth stretched into the broadest smile that had ever graced her face. The features themselves were not beautiful, but were so animated by happiness and excitement that her emotions rendered the whole face beautiful indeed. _

_Inspired by her boyfriend's gesture—for yes, now, at last officially she had to cede to him the honor of that title—she grabbed the phone, pointed it up at him, and took three pictures of her own. _

One of those was the very photo of a man transported that she now held in her hand.

_Betty herself felt giddy. Though not so sure as Gio that this was the beginning of true love forever, she knew she was setting out on a great adventure, one that scared and thrilled her all at once. For that reason alone she was in heaven._

_They never made it to lunch that day. Instead, they wandered through the park, holding hands, talking about Rome, giggling, smiling. Every now and again, Gio would pull her against a tree, wrap his arms around her and kiss her with abandon. Every now and again, she would do likewise. _

_At one point, Gio felt a frisbee hit him in the back. He turned and saw a pack of small boys running toward him to retrieve it, and he aimed it back at them, yelling, "You can do better than that! You barely grazed me!" The kids screamed and chortled as they caught the missile and returned it. Their aim was terrible, of course, so Gio had to scamper sideways to repossess it. For a few minutes he gamboled with them, tossing the frisbee back and forth, running, leaping, laughing. Betty's heart expanded as she watched him sharing his exhilaration with the young throng, pouring out his glee on everyone and everything that touched him. _

_As he played, she darted over and gathered up his bag of softball gear. When she deposited herself at his side, he looked over and pointed at her. "Watch out for this one," he admonished the kids. "She's a star ballplayer. If she gets your frisbee, she'll throw it so far you'll never see it again." Their eyes grew big as they shifted their gaze to her._

"_Sorry, guys," she called out to them. "I gotta haul this one away now." _

_Events snowballed after that. Back at the Meade Building, Gio gave her a quick smooch in the lobby and headed back to the deli to scout airline tickets on the internet. She went to sign up for the softball team and get fitted for the uniform she would need for the game the next day, then finally visited Daniel to give him the news of her trip. As it happened, Danny was there, wearing eye make-up, courtesy of Amanda. Oddly enough, this special day for Gio and her was also the first day she met the boy destined to become such a big part of her life. _

_Later Gio dropped up to her office to let her know that he'd landed a great deal on cheap airfare and accommodations. For the first time, she totally believed that this adventure was going to happen. She doubted she could be any happier, but later her boss completed her delight by giving her free first-class tickets and reservations for five-star hotels, gifts for her and Gio. Towards the end of the afternoon, Daniel headed off to prepare for a night of clubbing, allowing her to run home early and share her plans with her family._

_Her sister and nephew were thrilled for her, but needless to say Ignacio was not pleased. Right away he dove into what was, for him, the heart of the matter. "Are you going to sleep in the same bed with him?" Was his baby girl going to disgrace her honor and make the same mistake her sister had, all for the sake of touring Italy? _

_This was the last thing Betty wanted to argue about with her father, so she waffled on her response: "We really haven't discussed it." In truth, she had been so busy rushing through her day, making plans in her head that she hadn't thought about this particular implication of her decision. But, even so, without deliberation, she knew that the answer was the same as her answer had been to every other question put to her that wondrous day: "Yes! Yes! Yes!"_

_Then, at this very moment, when everything looked so bright, a darkness fell over her world, eclipsing her galvanized mood, taking away the happiness forever. Henry returned. He didn't mean to bring her down and didn't expect to be greeted with bitterness and confusion. Indeed, when he knelt at her front door and offered a ring, he anticipated a smile and tears and a hug. And he expected an answer. That was how it had played out in his head over and over again on the plane as he winged his way back to New York. Instead, she sent him away to wait for her reply another day._

_From the moment of Henry's departure, Betty lost all resolve. She was unsure of the righteousness of her decision that afternoon, unsure even which man truly held her heart. It felt like it was Gio, but he had had an unfair advantage, insinuating himself into her life all these weeks when Henry was gone. Wasn't Henry the one she shared a tragic destiny with? Weren't they supposed to love, hopelessly, passionately, for all eternity? Yet Gio excited her in a way she'd never felt before. How could that be, and was it really love or merely lust? _

_Furthermore, after seeing Henry again, it occurred to her now that Gio evoked one further doubt, one that had been flitting about the outer boundaries of her consciousness throughout their relationship: did Gio really need her? With Henry she had always felt there was a reciprocity. She needed him, but she knew what his vulnerabilities were, what she had to give that he depended upon. But Gio seemed utterly self-sufficient. Sure, he wanted her, but in the final analysis, wasn't it always her asking for a lift, a favor, a kick in the butt, a shoulder to cry on? When had he ever come to her to ask for anything? Even when she tried to help him, by getting him his job back after she had caused him to lose it, he had turned her down. The very imbalance in their relationship disturbed her. For, if they fell on hard times, as they eventually must, and their bond was tested, as happens with all couples, what would tie him to her then?_

_In the evening, she checked her email and there was a message from Gio with two attachments, one each of the shots he had taken of her and she of him. She called him then to thank him and the intimacy and gaiety in his voice stabbed at her heart, for her own emotions no longer mirrored his. Still, she kept up a pretense and made plans to meet him at the game and never mentioned Henry's return. What followed was a sleepless night._

Betty felt wistful and deflated as she began to pack the basket back up. What message could she draw for herself and Daniel from these tattered memories. The picture of smiling Gio, if anything, seemed almost to be taunting her, saying, "See what happens when you let yourself go? When you give way to the feeling of the moment? Make caution your watchword, for nothing is certain, least of all love. You could turn around in a moment and find it's all an illusion."

The words "JUST BE," dangling from her wrist, now seemed a mockery. Look at what happened with Gio. She had held herself in check for weeks and had been content. Maybe if she had continued to move forward with slow deliberation, carefully weighing each step, she would have come to a truer assessment of her feelings. For it was at the moment when she gave in to impulse that whatever possibilities they shared were snatched away.

Getting ready for bed, she made her decision. She would test what she had with Daniel, test it until she felt certain she could accurately predict their future. Test it until she understood beyond a doubt what she felt for him and was confident it would stand the buffetting of time. Tomorrow she would seek him out to make him understand. If what she offered was worth having, then he must wait for her. He must show her his heart, and then when it was safe, she would show him hers. This was the prudent approach, and maybe if she had stuck to it in the past, she would not be alone today.

But later, sleepless well after midnight, she crept back to the living room closet and tugged down the basket once more. Again, she dug down to the bottom for Gio's photo and stared at it, unsettled. Had she truly drawn from her memories of him the lesson fate had intended? She gazed at it awhile, pondering.

Finally, as she went to return the picture to its resting place, she noticed an envelope lying in the absolute depths of the basket. Seeing it, she shuddered with dread, for she knew what it contained, nothing but unalloyed sorrow. She knew that if she opened it again, she would see the stains of the tears that she had rained down on the inky scrawling as she had read it over and over again, day after day, trying to find an iota of hope. She would see the bevy of creases inflicted on the paper, as it had been balled up and thrown across the room in anger and frustration.

She need not open the letter, for she knew everything it said. There had been a time when she could recite it from memory word for word, so well did she absorb its message. And yet she could not resist letting her eyes stray over those lines one more time. She removed it gingerly from its envelope.

_In the end, she had sent away Henry and knew it was forever. She had sent Gio away, too, because that seemed for the present the right thing to do, but she expected that his sojourn abroad would be brief and suspected that it would be the last time he need go alone. By this time she was pretty sure she loved him. Hadn't she told Henry so? Then she busied herself with her everyday life, now in some disarray as Daniel changed jobs, and she and Christina took up residence under a new roof in the alien territory of Brooklyn Heights._

_The first postcard from Gio, sent from the airport in Rome, was at once evocative and impersonal: "Safe flight, pleasant company—13-year old boy, 1st-time traveler, in a seat near mine. We talked. Lights of Rome brilliant as we landed. Waiting for cab. More soon. Gio" No "wish you were here," no "love" before the Gio. It annoyed her a bit, but she hadn't seen the harm. She'd never had correspondence from Gio while he was away from home before, so couldn't know what to expect. A couple more postcards, similarly impersonal arrived, within the first week, and then they stopped. She imagined that Rome had wrapped him in her spell and was bombarding him with so many delights and distractions he didn't have time to keep in touch._

_Nevertheless, as weeks passed and Betty waited with heightening anticipation for her wanderer's return, her thirst grew for just a dribble of communication. Then, one day, she arrived home after work and there was a package, just slightly too big to fit in the mailbox, so the postman had left it lying on a shelf installed near her building's mailboxes. Her heart pounded when she spied the Roman postmark, and she clawed it open standing in the lobby. Having determined that it contained a letter in an envelope as well as a small jewelry box, she retired to her apartment with alacrity and settled down to read. But within seconds, her elation had evaporated, and she felt a hand of ice clawing at her heart. The letter was on plain but expensive parchment, three pages long in Gio's generously sized handwriting. This is what it said:_

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Dearest Betty,_

_I'm writing to share the news that I'm not coming back to New York. A truly amazing cook has offered me an apprenticeship here. It's not in the city, but it will give me a chance to soak up secrets of provincial Italian cooking from a bona fide genius. And because I finally realize that my absence will probably be more of a relief to you than anything else, I've accepted._

_You told me this separation would give us both an opportunity to think over our relationship, and I told you I didn't need to think it over. I was wrong. Distance has let me see at last what has been in front of my eyes all along. _

_When you first backed out of our trip together, I thought it was you being afraid to follow your heart again. After all, how could your heart lead you anywhere but closer to handsome, lovable, irresistible me? Then on the plane coming over, it hit me. Following your heart was exactly what you were doing. For the last two months, you could have had me on any terms you wanted, and it turned out that the terms you wanted were halting, hesitant, holding back. We never really moved beyond the "baby steps" you insisted on. We hardly ever even saw each other away from the public eye. This is not the way a woman acts when she genuinely wants a man. I suspect you didn't end it the last time I saw you only because you didn't wish to spoil my time away._

_I never said the words before, because I was waiting for you to be ready to hear them, hoping that would be a moment of joy for us both. I guess I was kidding myself—me, the big realist. But anyway, I think you've known the truth all along without me saying it. I'm in love with you, B, hopeless, passionate, miserable, awesome, dirty, rotten love. I just pray to God that I won't be for much longer. _

_Maybe it's cowardly of me to say goodbye in a letter and not give us proper closure, as the shrinks say, but I can't stand to see you again. I don't need to hear you reject me in person. All I want now is for the pain to stop._

_Peace,_

_Gio_

_P.S. I'm not writing these things in anger, but in the hope that you'll find every fulfillment life can bring you. With that in mind, I'm sending you the enclosed token, from a wonderful silversmith I found here in Rome. Check out the engraving. You've told me that these words I once offered you touched something inside you, and I hope you'll remember them always._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Trembling, she unsealed the tiny box within her package and saw the charm. "JUST BE." How ironic._

"_No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Gio, you've got it all wrong!" Wild with disappointment, Betty leapt from her chair and paced, then circled the room several times. After a brief period of panic elapsed, she grabbed a phone book, seeking through the R's. The phone seemed to ring on forever. She expected to be speaking with Gio's mother or father, neither of whom she had met. What she would say, she had no idea. But it was a more familiar voice that answered, his little sister Antonella._

"_Antonella, thank God. This is Betty Suarez."_

"_What do you want?" Betty noticed with surprise that the child sounded quite hostile._

"_I just got a letter from Gio. There's something I need to tell him, and I have no idea how to reach him. Can you help me?"_

"_No."_

_Betty was taken aback. Surely Gio was keeping his family informed. Who could she turn to now?_

"_Why don't you leave him alone?" his sister's voice continued, scolding her through her handset. "Haven't you hurt and belittled him enough yet?"_

"_What? You don't understand . . ."_

"_I understand what I've seen with my own eyes. My strong, funny, amazing big brother in pain day after day. Trying to keep up the hope that maybe this day or that you'd finally let him more into your life. Being so careful not to call you his girlfriend, because, oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, Betty wouldn't like that. Can't offend Betty now. Then the day you said you'd go to Rome with him, he came over to our house walking on air. He was so excited, I hated to see it. Because unlike him, I understand how selfish you are. I knew you'd break his heart. I just knew it."_

_It came as a shock, seeing herself through the young teen's eyes. "Maybe when you're older, you'll realize . . ."_

"_Realize what? How to be a bitch like you? You're out of luck, lady, because I can do that just fine right now! Whenever somebody gets on my bad side. Like you, pulling out of the trip at the last minute. Oh, I remember about your poor stupid other boyfriend—Egg Salad, who has a baby somewhere else. But you didn't go with him, either, did you? That was just your last pathetic excuse for sticking it to Gio one more time."_

"_But Gio was okay with me not going. He said he could wait if I needed him to."_

"_The day he left, my whole family drove him to the airport, and he was so lost in his own world he barely even spoke to us. When we hugged him goodbye, he was rigid. Rigid with grief. "_

"_Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. I made a mistake. And he made a mistake, too. He sent me a letter that says he knows I don't love him, but I do, Antonella. I do so much. This is tearing me apart."_

"_Well, that just makes me happy. I wish you could hurt as much as Gio, because you drove him away. Because of you, he's not coming home!" Betty could hear through the phone that the young girl was in tears now, but her fury hadn't abated. "Sure, now you think you love him, because all of a sudden you can't get at him. But get him back again and you'd be right back playing your old games. You know you would."_

"_Antonella, you've got to believe me. I didn't know it meant that much to him."_

"_I don't believe you. You did know. You were just on a power trip, and you didn't think he'd get away from you."_

_Betty drew in her breath sharply. All of a sudden she recognized the truth of Antonella's words. The kid was right. She had known how strong were Gio's feelings for her, and it made her feel empowered. Empowered to impose her own conditions on their relationship. Empowered to write the rules for both of them. She was ashamed to realize now that she even took a certain pleasure in holding all the reins, testing just how far she could push him. She, Betty Suarez, who had been the victim of bullies for many years of her young life, had found a perverse sweetness in bullying the man she loved._

"_Maybe if I could speak to one of your parents." _

"_They're not home from work yet. But don't try calling back" admonished their daughter, "because they won't speak to you either. Because Gio doesn't want them to. And because you're not exactly their favorite person. You drove their beloved only son away to a whole 'nother continent. Even if your sister had been nicer to my mother, she'd still hate you."_

"_What's Hilda got to do with it?"_

"_Ask her."_

_And with that the teen slammed down the phone._

_Betty replaced the handset. She felt helpless, floundering._

_Early the next morning, she was at the door of the deli shortly after 7 A.M., its opening hour. Gio's cousin was alone at the counter, draining rolls of coins into the cash register. With trepidation Betty approached him and spoke, "Chezz?"_

_He looked up, and greeted her warmly. Apparently word had not yet reached him through the family grapevine that she was persona non grata. "Betty, how are you?"_

"_Chezz, it's important that I tell Gio something. Did he leave a forwarding address? Or any other information that could help me find him?"_

"_He left me the name of his hotel in Rome, but I tried to reach him there yesterday, and they said he's checked out."_

"_Why were you looking for him?"_

"_I got word from him that he'd be traveling and that he wouldn't be coming home. Well, I signed on here for a month, but I'm not in it for the long haul. I've got my own enterprises to pursue. He needs to tell me what he wants done with the deli."_

"_Then he'll need to be in touch with you soon. Could you please let me know right off if you hear?"_

_Cesare agreed, and Betty departed. When she returned a day later, Gio still had not communicated with his cousin. Then on the third day, Betty arrived to find that Chezz could not look at her. "What is it?" she quizzed him. "Tell me what you're not telling me."_

"_I'm sorry, Betty, but I talked to Gio personally, and he doesn't want to hear from you."_

"_That's because he doesn't know . . ."_

"_It doesn't matter now. He's on the road. He can't be reached."_

"_You don't understand."_

"_No, you don't understand. He and the woman he's traveling with are incommunicado for the time being."_

"_Woman?" A wave of nausea washed over her._

"_I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, Betty. It's over. He's moved on. He won't be back."_

Tears were streaming over Betty's cheeks now, as she allowed the emotions she had suppressed for so long to flow through her unfiltered. The ache in her heart, the inner emptiness were all still there, buried deep. She could not fathom to this day how she could have been so cruel, so stupid, putting her love for that man on trial, driving him out of her life and into another woman's arms. "Gio," she sobbed softly to herself, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

_"He's moved on. He won't be back." Those words pretty much spelled the end of her search. Oh, she googled him for awhile just to see if she could find him, to figure out whether he'd returned to the USA. Finding nothing, she tried googling him in Italy, and quickly discovered that Rossi was the number-one most common surname in that nation; Giovanni was a pretty common name, as well. Poring over the endless list of mentions that the search engine spewed at her, she might for all she knew have seen one or more references to the man she sought, but she had no way of knowing._

_And what if she had discovered his whereabouts and contacted him? Could she have even spoken with Gio himself, or would a girlfriend—or by now a wife—have intervened, as Antonella had? A few months later, in the Fall, she tried calling the Rossi household once more, but they were gone. She questioned Justin about this, and he made inquiries around school and a day later came back with the news that Antonella's family had moved away. By then, the pickle sign was gone from the deli window and a small coffee shop had usurped its space. After a brief period, that failed, and the space was given over to the manicure salon which occupied it now._

_Thus, within a short time, all the threads of the future she might have had with Gio were swept away, and she was forced to get down to the task of suppressing whatever emotions, whatever memories, whatever dreams he had evoked in her. When she had cried for Henry, miserable though she had been, she had drawn a certain satisfaction from casting herself in the role of bereft lover, engaging the sympathy of all around her. When she cried for Gio, she cried utterly alone and there was nothing that could soften the stabbing pain that she felt, other than time. So just as she had once busied herself with "working and living" in order to distract her from the sandwich guy's attentions and keep her promise to Henry to avoid him, she now turned to the same mantra to save herself from her memories of her love._

Betty sat up straight and looked at the clock. It was 1:34 A.M. Her sobs were hiccupping down to a slow simmer now, and in a moment more she'd have them brought under control. Daniel, she whispered, what are you doing right now? Don't let me be alone, I need you. What had she been thinking, with her carefully laid plan to keep her new man at bay, make him wait. That way lay madness, that's what the ghost of Gio's spirit must have been returning to warn her again and again over the last few weeks.

She picked up her phone and punched in Daniel's number, to be greeted after a few rings with a groggy "Hello?"

"It's Betty. Did I wake you?"

"What time is it now?"

"Getting on towards 2 A.M."

"What's wrong?" The concern in his voice revealed that he'd now snapped to alertness.

"I'm sorry to call so late. It's just that I've been thinking about you—about us—all day, and I need to see you. I need you to hold me right now. I realize it's the middle of the night, but . . ."

"No matter, I'm on my way. Just give me time to get dressed, then I'll be there soon."

"Thank you, Daniel, thank you."

"No, thank you, Betty. It means a lot that you called."

.


	14. Why Don't You and I?

Chapter 14

~ Why Don't You and I ~

At nearly quarter to three in the morning, a hand attached to a wrist adorned with a tiny silver charm reached out to unlatch a deadbolt. To Betty's puzzlement and exasperation, a dashing figure stood on her threshold—a Daniel obviously showered, clean-shaven, aromatic with a manly cologne and meticulously dressed. Here she had been sitting curled up on her couch, hugging her knees, checking her watch, waiting and longing to be comforted, and he had been attending to his grooming. But she immediately forgave him, for he was here now and he was what she needed.

What met Daniel's eyes when the door gaped open took him similarly by surprise. He had realized when he answered his phone earlier that Betty's summons was not some mere booty call. The tremor of her voice had betrayed that a deeper emotion was at work and that she was reaching out, a gesture he had hoped for but not expected so soon. Now, Daniel was a man very much in the habit of arriving by night to deliver tender ministrations to emotional women, and he had come in uniform, equipped for the job. But never before had the object of his attentions greeted him in fluffy pink slippers and a quilted patchwork bathrobe gapping in front to reveal a lime green, bunny-bedecked tee-shirt underneath. His features fell into a pout, for this did not appear to be a woman awaiting the arrival of a lover. When Betty had begged him to come hold her, had she after all simply been seeking a hug from a buddy?

However, noticing his friend's red eyes and tear-spotted face, Daniel quickly found his fleeting vexation and revulsion banished by a stronger instinct to soothe her inner tempest. His eyes narrowing with concern, he raised a hand to run an exploratory thumb over her wet cheek. Reaching up, Betty enfolded his hand in hers, drew him into the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest.

For an instant, in spite of himself, he was disconcerted by the oddness of finding Betty melting in his arms—this small, round, childlike woman so familiar to him and yet at the moment so foreign. Then his concern trumped his sense of incongruity. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You've been crying. Did your family say something to upset you?"

Betty pulled him down on the sofa and, resting her arm on his shoulder, picked at the fabric of his jacket. "No, they didn't upset me. At least, only in a roundabout way. We had a generally pleasant evening together, but they didn't take the news about you and me calmly, not at all, especially my father." Daniel felt sorry for her discomfort, but relieved, too. She had disclosed their involvement to her family. For the first time, he was convinced that her interest was serious.

"You know, Betty, I don't really understand what the problem is. Your father knows me pretty well, and I'm sure he realizes how much I care about you. I thought he liked me. I thought we got along great."

"You got along when he had no fear that you were going to seduce and abandon his baby girl. It's one thing for Papi to take a concerned and fatherly interest in a young fellow with a rocky romantic history. It's another thing entirely for him to see me encouraging advances from a man whom, frankly, he considers a rake."

Despite his worry about Betty's emotional state, her suitor could not suppress a sardonic smile at her quaint wording. "A rake? So he thinks I'm a bounder and a rascal? Is he going to slap me in the face with a glove and challenge me to a duel with pistols at fifty paces?"

"No, but I'm sure he's plotting his interrogation of you even as we speak. I told him you were ready to submit yourself to any kind of grilling he wanted."

"Oh, thanks a lot. Do I get a blindfold and a cigarette first?"

"You don't smoke."

"I may have to start if this is what life's going to be like with you." Daniel pushed the hair carelessly from her face, and gave her a quizzical look. "You know, we've been in each other's lives for so long, you and I, and our families are quite well acquainted, too. It seems like this should be easy, like everything should just fall into place. No big deal."

Betty shook her head. "Think, Daniel. You're a father. Think about if Danny were to get involved with a girl who had a reckless reputation. Perfect example: the Kahelis twins—the one who had anorexia and did drugs before going into rehab."

"Annalee—but she's okay now."

"So you'd be fine with Danny bringing her home, just because the doctors have pronounced her rehabilitated?"

"Well, I guess I'd want to know . . ."

"Exactly! Or think of Renée Slater. The law has set her free, and you seem ready to forgive and forget. But how do you think your mother would react if it were her you were running to tonight instead of me?"

Betty's visitor scowled. "You're equating me with two very troubled people. Do you see me as comparable to them? Is that why you're crying? Do you feel like you're getting in over your head with a man who has serious emotional problems?"

Her eyes darted to him in alarm, as she sought to reassure him. "Oh no, Daniel, that's not what I meant to imply at all. It's just that you do have a track record that would bother a parent. Many of your affairs in the past have been pretty sleazy. Even the recent past. Who was the last person you dated before you started up with me?"

Her beau's eyes slid to the side in embarrassment. "You know her. Elizabeta . . . a couple weeks ago."

"An alcoholic slacker and a bitch."

"I know, I know. We had an awful date. It was then that I recognized that I was falling for you, and that I just can't live like that any more."

"I believe you. I've watched you grow up as a person, especially since you got Danny. But I know you in a way Papi doesn't. And setting his mind at ease is important to me, so for my sake, will you let him torture you just a little?" She covered his hand with hers. "I have faith that you can show him the same man I see."

Her beseeching eyes overcame his reluctance. "Hmph, all right. You've got it. But you still haven't explained, Betty, why the tears?"

Betty fixed on him a solemn gaze. "I'll be honest. Papi's not the only one who's scared. I am, too. Not because I think you might be taking advantage of me, but because I can't be sure where this is going. I've been hurt before and—what felt worse—I myself have hurt someone I loved, so my instinct is to hold back. But tonight I realized that if I'm ever going to share my life with a man, I've got to face all the things that could go wrong, then let go and take a chance anyway. Once I knew that, I just had to see you. I want to be brave. I don't want to dwell on past mistakes. Whatever fears I may have about us, I don't want any regrets. Regrets can kill you." Looking away from him, she cursed, "Rats, this is hard. I feel stupid getting weepy like this."

"Well, do you know what I've found can pull you out of a funk, especially if you're with someone you care about?"

"Daniel, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Her eyes were aglow now. He nodded.

Their voices chimed out together: "Making love." "Eating ice cream."

"Oh," said Daniel, trying not to look disappointed. "Um, do you have any in your freezer?"

"No, but there's a little all-night café across the street. Will you wait while I get dressed and we can run over there?"

"Sure."

Hearing a heavy sigh escape him, she turned at her bedroom door. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm ready for the other quite yet. Do you mind too much?"

He shrugged. "Do you want me to lie?"

Smiling sheepishly, she nodded. "Yes, could you? Just a little white one? Because I really want ice cream. I need it."

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As Daniel and Betty approached the vestibule of her building, heading for the street, she slipped her hand into his. The night doorman noticed the gesture and saluted Daniel as they passed. Betty was one of his favorites and he was happy to see somebody taking care of her.

It had been raining earlier, and a large puddle lay between the curb and the street. Impulsively, Daniel swept his companion up into his arms to bear her across the small expanse of water, and she erupted into giggles. He was momentarily startled at how heavy his bundle was for such a short woman. Part of his amorous repertoire had always been carrying his lovers to bed, but it crossed his mind he might need to rethink that practice with Betty, if only to preserve his back. Struck by the realization that his involvement with his former assistant was in many ways going to be quite alien to his previous vast experience of women, he succumbed to a twinge of misgiving. But soon he shook it off, scolding himself. Of course things were going to be different with Betty Suarez. She was unique. She was special. That's why he was here.

The café was empty except for a single waiter, clad in a white apron, relaxing in a back booth, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. Now, he snapped to attention, rose and approached Daniel and Betty. "Good evening, sir. You and your wife sit anywhere you'd like. Do you want to see a menu?" Betty raised an eyebrow knowingly, hearing what her father had clued her into as a well-worn waiter's trick for increasing the size of a tip: when serving an obviously unmarried pair on a date, refer to the lady as the gentleman's wife. Faced with an old married couple, refer to the wife as his girlfriend. It tickled her to see the effectiveness of the ruse on Daniel, who was now blushing pink with pleasure as he led her to a table for two by the front window.

No menus were necessary. Betty ordered a large bowl of peppermint ice cream. Daniel decided on apple pie à la mode. Seeking to divert her from the issues that had been clouding her emotions that evening, _Mode_'s editor directed the discussion to her plans for _Cuisine_. As she relaxed into the conversation, Daniel felt a weight lifting from his own mind as well. He foresaw his workplace becoming more tolerable from here on out. Adjusting to a new assistant was something he could face now, because he would know that the little woman seated across from him would be waiting for him at day's end with her bright smile and animated chatter.

Awhile later, they felt a brief draft as a tall, silver-haired, casually dressed but elegant couple entered the establishment. After both had removed their outer coats, the man unwound the woman's scarf from around her neck. Something about that offhand, intimate interaction touched Betty's heart, and she found herself wondering if that could be her and Daniel someday. It surprised her how unforced and natural it already seemed to be imagining their future together not in terms of days and weeks, but rather in years and decades. She saw Daniel glancing at the newcomers, too, as they settled into a booth, and wondered whether he was entertaining a similar vision of their lives to come.

Abruptly Betty's musings were cut short as her date smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "Ready to go?" She nodded back. A relationship which only recently had seemed unthinkable was steadily growing into a comfortable reality, and all at once she desired nothing more than to be alone with him.

Heading back to Betty's building, Daniel linked his arm through his companion's to guide her around the puddle. At the front door, Betty stopped briefly to address the doorman. "Cameron, I want to introduce Daniel Meade, my boyfriend." She shot a shy glance at Daniel and saw his eyes light up like candles at hearing himself so described. Gratified, she continued with Cameron, "From now on, please feel free to buzz him up at any time. No need to ask permission."

Next came the elevator. As the doors slid shut and the car started to rise, Betty turned to Daniel and gulped. After steadying herself for a moment, she grabbed the opening of his jacket and tugged him to her with such force that a button popped off in her hand. Standing on tiptoe, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to his. As her lips brushed his, Daniel pulled back with a baffled expression. "Betty, this is an elevator. I thought you never . . ."

"I know what I said, and it was dumb. Please forget I ever told you that and come kiss me." Daniel enfolded her tightly in his arms, but as he explored her mouth with his, she was speaking silently in her head to another man. This is the end for us, Gio. I've done what you wanted. I've let Daniel into my life. So please stop haunting me and go back to Italy, back to your life there, your wife and family. Be happy and leave me alone. Goodbye forever. And now, as she gave herself over to the sensations Daniel was teasing out of her, all thoughts fled from her mind.

B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G B G

Daniel paused by Betty's front door as she inserted her key. "You seem to be in better spirits now, so if you're feeling sleepy, maybe I better be on my way."

"Don't be silly. I just pulled a button off your jacket. You can at least come in and let me sew it back on." With that she admitted them to her apartment and with no further fanfare led him into the bedroom, where she lifted her sewing kit from the bookshelves. Because her desk was in here, he had been in the room previously when he had come over in connection with some project she was working on at home. However, he was exquisitely aware that this was his first time broaching her inner sanctum in the course of a social call.

After soliciting his jacket from him and removing her own, Betty sat in the chair by her desk, leaving her guest a choice between the bed and the rocker. He chose the latter, not wanting to imply he expected more of his hostess than completion of her current domestic mission. Watching her bowed over her needle and thread, tending to this tiny housekeeping job on his behalf, he felt flooded by a warmth of affection. Betty was back taking care of him, as he planned to take care of her. His world had fallen into place again, and he was at peace.

Betty worked quickly and deftly and within a couple minutes was snipping at the thread with scissors and laying aside her needle. Daniel stood and reached out for his jacket, ready to take his leave, but she turned and placed it over the back of her chair. "There," she announced. "I'll just hang it there and it will be wrinkle-free." She turned to face him. "When you leave in the morning," she added.

His mind still focused on his exit, Daniel did a double-take, caught off guard as he realized the invitation implicit in her words. Stumbling as he crossed to her in two strides, his heart beating wildly, he lifted her joyously into the air and spun her around with no thought to the possible harm to his back. "Do you mean it? Are you really ready?"

The evident thrill this man-of-the-world was expressing at being asked to stay the night touched Betty and erased any doubts that might have lingered about the sincerity of his devotion. She placed a hand on his cheek. "Yes, I want you here. That is, if . . . did you bring, you know . . . ?"

"Protection?" He grinned, pulled out his wallet and flourished a small packet drawn from its folds. "Please, I do have some idea of what I'm doing." Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head, then her forehead, then her cheek. "Do you want to, um, retire now?"

With a husky "Yes" that caught in her throat, Betty left kisses on his neck and chin, then closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his. As his tongue slipped through her teeth to play with hers, she felt him peeling off her cardigan and tugging at the bottom of her turtleneck jersey. Pulling back, she temporarily palmed her glasses and lifted her hands over her head while he slid off her top. Then she got to work unbuttoning his shirt. There had been times in the past when her erstwhile boss had needed her help to do a quick-change in his office, so fiddling with his buttons was nothing new to her. But here in this sexually charged atmosphere, her fingers fumbled as she plugged away at her task. Daniel, who had been caressing her face, neck and shoulders now brought his hands down to enfold hers and murmured, "Relax. Let me."

While her partner swiftly freed himself of his shirt and wifebeater, she busied herself removing her slacks, then saw he was doing the same with expert haste. Within under a minute they stood before each other stripped to their underwear.

Now, looking down, Betty saw that Daniel was more exposed than she had expected. Backing away in sudden disgust she pointed her finger below his waist. "Ewww, Daniel, what's that?"

Shaken, her lover frowned. He had not anticipated this, and her reaction was hardly complimentary. "Betty, this surely isn't the first time you've seen . . . ? I mean, you have had boyfriends before. That's my three-piece set."

"Your what?"

"My crown jewels, my privates. Don't you know how men are put together?"

"Oh no, of course I've seen _that_ before . . ." here she waved her hand dismissively at his crotch. "Not _yours, _of course, but you're right, I'm no virgin. What I'm talking about is what you've got it stuffed into." She turned her head away now from the offending sight. "It's your briefs. They're see-through, and they seem to be smooshing it all up, like a hot dog encased in a vacuum-packed plastic bag. It's just, it's just . . . ugh!"

Daniel's temper flared. Cut to the quick, he muttered, "I don't see what you're complaining about. Other women have found it . . ." Oops, he thought better of his reply. Best not to go there. "I mean, it's supposed to be sexy."

"Well, it's not. That is something I never want to see again."

"Then what about you? I mean, you're on a supposed romantic date with me and here I find you in granny pants!"

Betty was wearing a red cotton sports bra and red cotton briefs with a striped waistband. "These are _not_ granny pants. Granny pants are shapeless things that come up to the waist. These show my navel and they're cut high on the thigh."

"Well, whoop-dee-doo. They're still not exactly alluring."

A retort formed rapidly in Betty's brain, but before it could escape her lips, she pulled herself together and let out an amused chortle. "Omigod, omigod, this is the weirdest, worst seduction ever. Obviously, we've got room for improvement."

Daniel joined in her laughter. "Yeah, and I'd have sworn I was such a pro at this. I guess we'll have to practice and get better. Maybe we should start out by adopting the policy of buying each other's underwear from now on."

"No, no, I do own more lacy, silky stuff than this. It's just that my mind was on other things than sex when I got dressed. I wasn't thinking. Besides, if I let you buy my dainties, I'd probably end up with a drawerful of crotchless panties."

"The problem with that being . . . ?"

"Well, it seems to me to sort of ignore the whole reason for wearing panties in the first place."

"I believe the whole reason for you to wear panties is so I can take them off. But okay for now. I'll just have to work on bringing you around. Anyway, I have other briefs, too. These are just my ones for extra-special dates. But, believe me, after tonight your reaction is enough to convince me to deep-six them for good." He shook his head in resignation. "I have never, never, ever suffered such humiliation. I'm not even sure I can, ahem, perform after that display of derision. Seriously, will it be all right with you if I remove them now?"

"Please do, and then you can help unhook me."

Mere seconds later, all smiles and giggles had vanished as they faced each other naked for the first time. Betty could see that Daniel was lean and his body as well put together as his face was handsome. For his part, Daniel noticed a bit of a pot belly where other women of his experience had been concave. He also beheld a bit of cellulite on her upper thighs, and observed that Betty had a short waist. Not a combination that would under normal circumstances have aroused him, but he was discovering that—luckily—the tender emotions he harbored for this woman imparted a welcome aphrodisia. Besides, her breasts were magnificent, voluptuous to a degree that he had not imagined.

The coverlet on the bed was already pulled down—Betty had evidently been in bed earlier that night and then risen again—so Daniel simply lifted the top sheet and blanket, slipped underneath and reached out to guide his companion in beside him. After removing her glasses, he gathered her into his arms and felt her body tense. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just relax. We won't do anything until you're ready." For a long time, he simply held her, occasionally gracing her hair or cheek or chin with a brief, soft kiss. After caressing the outside of her upper arm for a period, he gradually became aware of the tightness in her muscles melting away. He began to stroke her sensitive inner arm and finally his hand slipped to her breast. At that, she lay back on the pillow and her hand came up to cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to hers, receiving him into a deep kiss. Before long their hands were moving recklessly, everywhere, above and below, surveying each other's bodies, igniting little volcanoes of sensation. And finally their bodies joined together, consummating whatever these new feelings were that had dawned between them.

"I love you, Betty," whispered Daniel as his passion crested.

"I love you, too," she replied, and it was true.

Then they lay curled together, her back pressed up against him, and fell asleep.

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Roused from a rejuvenating if dreamless sleep, Betty reached for her glasses. Slowly, Daniel came into focus, naked, over by her desk, his back to her, rummaging through his jacket to find his insistently buzzing cell phone. Retrieving it, he flipped it open and spoke in a low voice, "You got my note? . . . Yes, all night. No, nothing bad. You won't be unhappy. . . . I'll be there eventually, I just don't know when. Go ahead and get breakfast for yourself, okay? . . . Call me if you decide to go out, and remember—as far as girls are concerned, you're still grounded. . . . All right, I'll see you later. Love you." Turning, he snapped the phone closed, then caught sight of Betty, wide awake, staring back at him.

"Oh, I thought you were asleep still. That was Danny," he explained. "He wanted to find out why I was out all night. He figured out that I was with a woman and was upset because he was afraid it wasn't you. I didn't really want to get into it with him on the phone, but I felt I better hint to him that we were together so he'd cheer up. I'll have to go home and explain in more depth later on, but not right now. So move over, woman."

As her lover climbed back under the covers, Betty cuddled up next to him and expressed her surprise. "You already told Danny about us? Even though nothing was decided before last night?"

"No, now remember, we actually decided Friday evening that we were going to begin dating, so I did tell him that yesterday morning. I hadn't been planning to, not so soon, but somehow he had caught on that something was happening between us. I gather he and your Annette had been discussing the possibility and he was pretty gung ho for the idea. In fact, the truth is he's been disconcertingly anxious for me to get you into bed."

"Really? Maybe he and Annette figured it out from when I went up to have dinner with you in your office two nights before my Board presentation. They were both there that night. But it is a bit creepy, don't you think, that he'd be so invested in our sex life." She shuddered a little, unable to deny that this disturbed her.

"I know, I know, but don't get the wrong idea. I don't think his interest is prurient—not at all. He just misses you, Betty, and he sees that in a funny way as a means of inducting you into the family. The boy wants a mother, and I think you're aware that he's pretty much cast you in that role. And not without your collaboration, you've got to admit. Now, like most kids, he wants to see his 'parents' together. I pray to God things work out for us in the long run, because he's going take it hard if they don't."

"Omigod, no pressure there," muttered Betty, worried.

"Please, please," soothed Daniel, "don't let it scare you. Our first morning waking up together should just be full of happy thoughts. So come here and make me happy again, like you did last night."

She wrapped her limbs around him and grinned. "Only if you do the same for me." And he did, he most certainly did.


	15. Something to Talk About

Chapter 15

~ Something to Talk About ~

As she sat with him outside the Meade Building in the Meade family limo on the Monday morning following their first and second nights together, Betty gave her new Meade lover a quick peck on the cheek and slid towards the door. Immediately he scooted over to follow her out of the car. She turned and scowled at him. "What are you doing, Daniel?"

"Getting ready to go up to my office."

"You can't exit right behind me. Somebody might see us and figure out we came from the same bed this morning."

"The problem with that being . . . ?"

"That's going to raise a lot of questions I'm not ready to answer. Really, I'd prefer to just keep this between the two of us for now while we try our relationship on for size."

"I thought we'd already established over the last couple nights that _size _is no problem for us." Daniel leered at her teasingly, then caught himself and stole a glance at the chauffeur, trying to tell if he was "eavesdropping" through the rearview mirror. In the front seat, Arthur stared out the windshield stone-faced. Still, Daniel resolved to take more care with his wording going forth.

Blushing, Betty's face showed irritation. "You know what I mean. Let's just be discreet for now. I don't like the idea of people snickering about us all over the company, okay?"

"Okay. But don't you think people will get a pretty good idea what's going on when they see you emerging from my limo?"

"Not as long as they don't see you. They'll just think you let me borrow it for an errand. Look, I have to run, because I scheduled an early breakfast with your son. I'll call you later." She stroked his cheek fondly. "Now, please wait a couple minutes after I enter the building before getting out yourself. That will keep our business just between you and me."

"And Arthur, obviously."

"Thank goodness Arthur can be trusted not to blab. You better be planning a nice big Christmas bonus for him." With that, she kissed her lover again and leapt from the car.

Daniel stole another look at his driver, trying to determine how much, if any, of their conversation the man had caught. While he intended a Christmas appreciation in an appropriate amount to go to Arthur this year, he didn't need Betty setting up unrealistic expectations. After all their years working together, Daniel had yet to fully grasp that in these types of matters, Betty always wound up getting her way.

For his part, Arthur looked stolidly ahead of him, apparently—in Daniel's eyes—unaware of Betty's admonition to his boss just moments before. What Daniel failed to hear through the soundproof plastic separating them was that without moving his lips, Arthur had commenced to humming a merry "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town."

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In Betty's office on the _Hot Flash _premises, Danny had laid out two muffins, two coffee mugs and two small cartons of orange juice from the _Mode_ cafeteria. Bustling in, Betty closed the door and greeted him cheerfully with a hug. "Hi, sweetie. Wow, it's been awhile since we've really talked. I've missed that. So much has changed so rapidly in recent days."

"You mean, like my Dad not coming home all weekend?"

Pulling her chair up beside him, she nodded. "Does that bother you?"

"Just the opposite. Betty," the boy looked down at his muffin and turned beet red. "It's a little weird talking to you about this, but I'm glad that you and Dad are . . ." he cleared his throat and continued . . . "that you're, you know, . . ."

"Close?" offered Betty helpfully.

"Yeah." Her breakfast partner continued to fiddle with his muffin without taking a bite. "Listen," he finally blurted, "do you love him? Because I know he loves you. He's told me over and over how much he's been missing you. So, are you—what you're doing now—is it serious?"

"This seems awfully important to you."

"It is. I've wanted it, like, forever. It would mean you, me and him are sort of a family."

Betty scanned his face anxiously. "Oh, Danny, you're getting way ahead of yourself. Nothing's been decided between Daniel and me beyond spending more time together and seeing what happens." But as her young companion's face fell, Betty squeezed his arm fondly and added, "If it helps, the answer is, yes, I do love him. Just as I love you." Her eyes softened. "I always will."

Observing Danny's features brighten, Betty raced ahead to a new topic. "Hey, want some good news on your work assignment?"

"Yay! You're letting me out of the mailroom!" cheered the reluctant intern, hopefully.

"Sorry, not yet. But I am sending Elise down to help you until your rotation is over. That should make you happy. Although," she added, "you both have to remember you're just there to work. Don't be getting ideas about seeing her after hours. You're still grounded for two more weeks."

"Oh. Thanks, Betty," grunted Danny. Somehow his response lacked the enthusiasm Betty had been expecting.

"This _is_ good news, isn't it? You and Elise aren't on the outs or anything?"

"No, no, that will be fine. Whatever. But listen, Betty, can I get Annette's cell number from you? I wanted to call her over the weekend, and I didn't know how to reach her."

"Annette? Um, sure, it's 555-3524. But what did you want to talk with Annette about?"

"Baseball," he replied, adding in response to Betty's bewildered expression, "She's a fan, you know."

"Really? She's never mentioned it."

Danny chortled. "She's probably too ashamed, or at least she should be. Rooting for the Red Sox. Geesh. But the thing is, my Dad's getting me an automated pitching machine so I can start practicing my batting on my own. You know, to get ready for the pros. I'll need somebody to run the machine and catch balls while I bat, and Annette loves the game, so why not her? I want to ask her to help me get started over Thanksgiving break."

Betty smiled approvingly. "I'm glad you two are hitting it off now, Danny. I think Annette can be a very good friend to you, and she could use some fun in her life. I don't know about the holiday though. She'll have to check that with her mother, and you need to ask Daniel, too."

"Well, I know I'm not supposed to be spending time with girls now, but . . ."

"Don't worry about that. I know this is different with Annette—platonic, not a date. I'll back you up with Daniel, but you'll still have to get his permission. Which reminds me—about your father and me—I don't want to get the rumor-machine started at full tilt just yet, so for now, please keep our news to yourself. Agreed?"

"My lips are sealed," grinned Danny. "And that phone number again was 555-what?"

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Moments after Danny had ambled off for his first class with Justin, Betty bolted off on her way to meet Claire and collided with Christina rounding a corner.

"Me stars, you're in quite the hurry this morning, and . . . ." At this point the seamstress stopped in mid-sentence and scrutinized Betty's face closely. "Well, bless your naughty knickers, you've been getting some, lady! What happened? _Who_ happened? Come confess to Sister Christina."

Betty felt her face get hot. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"You got laid last night—or maybe this morning. It's written all over your face. Anyone can see that."

"No, I didn't . . . . And how can they see it?"

A flock of models swarmed through the corridor, jostling the two friends, but Christina stayed on message: "Hah! I knew it! You might as well tell me what happened and who the man is."

Daniel, now heading in their direction, passed the models, nodded absently at Betty and Christina and continued on his way. Betty ignored him, fixing her eyes on the woman who stood challenging her.

"Really, Christina, there's nothing to tell. You're imagining . . ."

But Christina's head had whipped around, her eyes following Daniel's departing back. "Oh my God, Betty! You and _Damfcrmf?_" The last part of her exclamation was muffled by Betty's hand over her mouth. Her eyes wild with agitation, Betty dragged her friend back into her office and kicked the door shut before releasing her.

"Shhhhhh! Shhhhhh, Christina! Okay, okay, you caught me. I'm having an affair with Daniel."

"But didn't you tell me just recently . . . ?"

"Well, things change. But, Christina, I'm begging you not to go spreading this around. I'd really like to keep it private for the time being."

"Then you shouldn't have told me! You know how I love gossip. It's like giving a vial of heroin to a junkie and then asking them to keep it in the fridge for a month."

"I didn't tell you! You dragged it out of me!"

"At least fill me in—is this for real or did you just get a little drunk and lose your mind?"

"No, it's pretty major. Whether it will last, I don't know, but alcohol wasn't involved. I was just feeling blue in the middle of the night Saturday, and I called him and he came over and we spent the rest of the weekend . . ."

". . . in bed?!"

"No! Well, not all of it. But together. We need time to sort this out for ourselves, though. Can you be an angel and grant us that?"

Christina looked into her good friend's fretful eyes and relented. "Oh, okay, mum's the word. You drive a hard bargain, but I owe you a lot, Betty. I haven't forgotten that. Well, I'm off for coffee break with the girls!"

At this announcement, Betty's eyes registered renewed panic, but Christina patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a word about your romance, dearie." Starting for the door, the seamstress turned back and winked. "Lucky girl!"

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Marching into Betty's office, Claire Meade hoped to find her alert and eager to hit the ground running. Instead she encountered a dazed and frazzled-looking young woman. Clearly, something was distracting the girl, and it troubled her mentor. After all, this was the week they could finally start putting together the magazine Betty had fought for so tenaciously.

"I thought I'd better come find you. You're 20 minutes late for our meeting, and here you are woolgathering. Don't you know how much we have to get done before the holiday?"

After a moment, Betty shook her head to bring her mentor's face into focus. She saw worry lines puckering Claire's brow and heard her voice as though through a fog: "Betty, what's wrong? Is there some problem between you and my son? Because if so, my girl, you'll have to learn to leave your affair at home."

Claire's last words aroused Betty from her stupor. "Affair?" Her voice squeaked with alarm. "You, too? You know about us?"

"I pretty much caught on when Daniel called me at dawn to send Arthur to your place with a change of clothes. How obtuse do you think I am?"

Ah yes, realized Betty, of course he'd told his mother. "Don't worry, Mrs. Meade—Claire—Daniel and I are fine. But . . . you don't think anyone else knows, do you?"

"Oh, Alex suspects something. But so what? Snap out of it, Betty. I'm sure you can count on us all to keep it to ourselves, but meanwhile we have a million things to talk about and decisions to make. You worked hard to become an editor. Try to enjoy it!"

As it turned out, Betty did enjoy it. For the next three hours, she and Claire immersed themselves totally in plans for _Cuisine_'s start-up. They discussed possible candidates for top positions and arranged to advertise for resumé submissions to fill lower-level posts. They visited the 23rd Floor, which Alex had agreed to turn over to their magazine, and began to allot space variously for sales and advertising, planning and production, and a kitchen for testing recipes. Betty chose an office for herself, perfect in that it offered both a view of the front plaza and proximity to the kitchen—ah, the perks of command! Watching Betty gradually warm to the job, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. The crisis was under control.

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"Got a minute?" Soon after Claire had dashed off at noon to touch base with her _Hot Flash_ co-editor Letty, Cliff barged through Betty's door, an outsize portfolio in his hand. "I want to show you these," he announced, blanketing Betty's desk with exuberant photos glorifying a young woman on a skateboard. "They're from my photo shoot last Saturday. How do you like them?"

"Fashion shots?" Betty surveyed the collection, wondering what this had to do with her. "Well, I'm no expert, but they seem quite captivating—they convey a nice sense of motion and playfulness. But then I've always liked your work."

"Oho, but that's just it. I didn't shoot these. I started running out of time and was losing my light, so I had to let this series go."

"And yet, there they are." Her thick brows knit together in puzzlement.

"Not my work, Betty. These are Annette's. I assigned them to her as an exercise for me to critique, but I never expected anything this professional. There's one I'd like to see published alongside the ones I took for the spread—that one there, with Shula's arms flung out like wings and her head thrown back laughing. Including it won't break any rules of Annette's internship, will it? I just wanted to check."

"No, she did these working for you on the side, not as an intern. No conflict there. And she should get paid the usual fee for a freelancer. Omigod, she'll be so excited. I'm taking her to dinner tonight as thanks for her help with _Cuisine. _Now we'll have two things to celebrate."

"No, you won't. I still have to run the suggestion by Daniel and I probably won't have an offer for her for several days—if it even happens. Please say nothing yet." Then, starting to gather up Annette's handiwork, Cliff favored Betty with a curious glance. "So, you and Daniel . . . when did that begin?"

His words made Betty jump. "What makes you think . . . ?"

"I was talking with friends on the picket line outside when his limo arrived bright and early. You got out alone, he followed a few minutes later. If you two thought you were being cagey, it didn't work—at least not with me, and not with a dozen or so of my buddies."

"Drat! This is just what I was trying to avoid!" lamented Betty.

She looked so defeated that her visitor took pity. "Don't worry, the strikers have too much else on their minds to waste time dissecting Daniel Meade's love life. Not everything is about you, you know," he chided gently. "And I promise, your secret's safe with me."

"Yeah," muttered Betty when he had disappeared, "You plus a small village or two."

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On her lunch hour, Betty sought Justin out for information on Danny's academic progress. Justin reported that his pupil was doing well in Geometry, less well in Spanish. But her nephew seemed more eager to move on to another topic. "Woo-hoo, I heard you and Daniel took things to the next level. Fast work on his part, even for a Meade."

His aunt felt her temper rising. "I'll never trust Christina again! She promised she wouldn't say anything."

"Whoa, it wasn't Christina who told me, it was Oscar, the cashier down in the cafeteria. Resign yourself, Aunt Betty. You two are item one in the Meade gossip mill!"

Oscar with the perpetually snuffly nose and the bad toupee? Oscar whom the models tried not to touch when he made change for them? If Oscar knew, then just how far had the news traveled? She didn't want to think about it. "Nuts! Thanks for the headache, Justin," Betty groaned, grabbing her temples. "Just go away now—please!"

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After lunch, Betty and Claire returned to Betty's current office to confer with two women from the Art Department, exploring various graphic styles for the new magazine. Periodically, Betty caught Grace and Myrna taking surreptitious peeks at her and then exchanging knowing looks. No doubt about it. Her own personal sex scandal was common knowledge within the company.

Late in the afternoon, as Betty and Grace compared color combinations for the logo, Claire took a quick call on her cell phone, then handed Betty a folder. "Myrna left these lettering samples for you to look over when you've got time. That was my secretary reminding me she added a surprise appointment to my calendar for 4:00, so I have to run off now. When you're done here why don't you pull together that list of potential advertisers you were talking about? We need to start scheduling presentations with them soon."

"I'll work on that. See you tomorrow," called Betty after her departing colleague. But for the moment, the young editor's mind was not on her publication. It had occurred to her that she needed to reach Justin and warn him to spare her father a premature update on her liaison. Better to break that news to Papi herself. Gently, very gently. Thank God Justin was Papi's only conduit to the Meade company's grapevine.

After trying her nephew's Mode number and learning that Justin had left the building, she placed a call to Teaneck to see if he had gone home. Hilda answered the phone, squealing. "Betteee! Wow! You and Daniel living together! I can't believe it!"

Uh-oh, thought her little sister, too late to keep Justin from spouting off at home, but maybe he hasn't contacted Queens yet. "Well, that's overstating the story quite a bit, Hilda. But, if you've heard, I guess that means Justin's there, so if I could just speak . . ."

"Justin? I haven't seen him. Do you want to leave a message?"

"Then how did you learn about Daniel and me?"

"I was watching TV when I was ironing, and Suzuki St. Pierre came on and said . . ."

"No! No-no-no-no-no! So all of New York is in on it?"

"Well, only the ones who watch the fashion news. What is it you want me to tell Justin?"

"Never mind!" Uncharacteristically, Betty slammed down the phone—hard. She was truly upset. A moment later her phone began to jangle, obviously her sister calling back. And who could blame her? She'd probably broken Hilda's ear. "Hello, Betty Suarez speaking," she answered and waited for Hilda to unleash a raft of new questions. But not a peep did she hear. One, two, three seconds passed. Nothing! She looked at the caller ID screen, which flashed back the word "UNKNOWN."

"Listen, whoever this is," (Renée?, she wondered) "if you're my same anonymous caller from last week, just know that I don't appreciate . . ."

At this point she was interrupted by a woman's voice, half-muffled in the background, coming through the earpiece, apparently confronting the person on the other end, "Hey! Who's that you're calling?" Immediately, the phone went dead.

Betty caught her breath and realized she was shivering a little. She wondered if she should call Daniel and report this new, possible phone-stalking to him. But in a moment she thought better of it. After all, she had received anonymous phone calls for years, undoubtedly just wrong numbers, too embarrassed to speak up and admit their mistake, too impatient to apologize. Had it not been for news of Renée's recent release, it would not have occurred to her to be uneasy. The truth was, they had no idea where on God's green earth Renée had scurried off to, and no real reason to think that either of them still crossed the woman's mind. Daniel himself seemed unconvinced that it was Renée on the phone, and upon reflection Betty realized he was probably right. She resolved to think no more about it.

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Betty cast an eye lazily towards the clock on her desk and instantly sprang from her chair. It was past 5:00, and she was already overdue to meet Annette in the lobby. Grabbing her coat, she rushed into the hall and ran for the elevator, only to find that—not atypically for closing time—it was already full to capacity. She would have to wait for another.

In fact, the elevator was so full that the doors closed on the shoe of a passenger in its front ranks and bounced open again. As the passenger drew back his foot, so that the doors could come together, Betty glanced absently at the crowd mashed in behind him and her heart stopped. A face she recognized was staring back at her, as thunderstruck as her own. Renée! Here in the Meade building! For a moment, their eyes remained locked on each other in consternation, and then the doors clamped shut.

Betty's hand grabbed her cell phone. Her fingers flew, pressing the keys. The ringing blared in her ears. "Daniel! Are you safe? Was she there? Did she hurt you?"

Daniel's disembodied voice wafted back to her, calm but bewildered. "What? Slow down, Betty. What are you talking about?"

"Renée! She's here, I saw her in the flesh. She called me maybe an hour ago—not a word out of her, same as before—and then I saw her just now in an elevator on my floor. The door was closing and I looked up and there she was inside. It was headed down," she added. Away from Daniel, she thought. Thank heaven for that.

"She's not coming after you, then?"

"I think not. If anything she seemed eager to escape from me, out of eyeshot."

"Well, I'll call security and tell them to look for her, but by then she'll probably have left the building. In the meantime, do you want me to send somebody to escort you down?"

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't try anything here, at least not now, even if she intends violence. There are too many people coming and going at this hour—too many possible witnesses. Besides, I'm late to meet Annette, so I have to scoot. Could we meet after my dinner is over, though? I admit this has thrown me. I'm going to need to see for myself you're all right, and I'll need you to hold me. Sorry."

"Of course I'll meet you, Betty. Don't apologize. Call me when you're ready to leave, and I'll come pick you up. Whatever you do, don't go out in the street all alone." Daniel's voice was thick with emotion now. "Take care—I love you."

"I love you, too. Oops, gotta catch this elevator. See you soon."

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Betty swallowed a bite of her chicken marengo and glanced at her dinner partner. "Danny Meade asked for your cell phone number today. Did he reach you?"

Savoring her glazed salmon, Annette nodded.

"He said it was about baseball. What's up with that?"

"Ms. Suarez, would you believe it? I've finally got him started on a 5-year plan. He's going to the gym, he's running after work, and now his father has ordered this contraption for him which pitches baseballs, all kinds of pitches—for batting practice, you see. Anyway, he asked if I could get away on Thanksgiving Day to go help him play with the thing."

"But Thanksgiving's usually a family time. Will that upset your mother, do you think?" In their few phone conversations, Suzanne Bretonne had struck Betty as high-strung and anxious, though devoted to her daughter.

"I already asked her. The plan is to eat around midday. Then the older folks—my grandparents—will take naps, so I can get away in early afternoon. My mom said that was fine."

"No sign that she has any misgivings, because of Danny's history and all that? Because I'd be happy to call and assure her . . ."

"No!" Annette's response was emphatic. "I mean, that's nice of you, but you needn't bother. Mom didn't seem concerned." Concentrating on her plate, she pushed her peas around with her fork and avoided Betty's eyes, for she was being less than truthful. If her mother approved her meeting up with a friend from Meade, it was because she had no idea who the friend was. Her daughter had simply stipulated another intern, and had not corrected Suzanne's immediate assumption that it was a girl.

"All right, Annette, I'm glad all's well, but if you later decide you want me to call . . . "

"I won't, but thanks." Annette squirmed. Why was this even an issue? It wasn't like this would be a date, just a little time off with Danny, playing a game. She was not about to let piffling, unfounded grown-up concerns take that away from her. Though a bit startled by her own unaccustomed intransigence, she felt rather pleased with herself for asserting some independence.

Still, perhaps now was a good time to change the subject. "Ms. Suarez, Danny also wanted to talk about something else. He says that you and his father have begun dating. Do you mind if I ask, is that true?"

So now my private life is fodder even for high school interns, thought Betty. She was becoming resigned to her new notoriety. At least Annette herself was no gossip. Aloud she said, "It's true. Daniel and I have been important to each other for years, and we've decided to see if we could be something more." Catching Annette's eye, she added, "You know, I'm glad Danny has a girl like you in his life, somebody he can confide in like a sister. I hope having that kind of relationship sits well with you, too."

"It does. I had a crush on him for a spell after I first met him, but I feel like I didn't really know him then. It was just that he was so cute. And after that, for awhile, he was acting mean and I hated him. But now I'm perfectly content, even though Danny Meade will never fall in love with me. In fact, I'm glad, because now we can be friends—good friends—for a long time."

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After waiting in the cold under the awning of the restaurant, Betty yielded herself willingly to the cozy warmth of the limo. As the door closed behind her, Daniel reached out and folded her to his breast. "Thank goodness you're safe," he muttered as she clung to him.

"Daniel, what are we going to do about Renée?"

Her lover sat back and shrugged wearily. "Beats me. I guess, first, let's try to find out what she wants. Maybe it's more benign than we fear, though the silent phone calls do seem ominous. The main thing is to keep you safe, and I promise I will."

"We need to keep you safe, too. That's what really matters. I got so preoccupied with stupid little things today. I thought we could hide our relationship from everybody, and it's still a mystery to me how it got around so fast. "

Daniel gave a rueful chuckle. "You don't know? Obviously, you didn't visit the men's room today. I quote:  
Said Meade to Suarez, 'Tell me quick,  
How would you assess my prick?'  
'Don't rush me, Daniel, I'm no bard,  
But I'll think about it long and hard.'  
One of the tamer graffiti examples about us there. That one was written on a mirror in lipstick.

"Written in lipstick? In the _men's_ room?"

"Hey, this _is_ _Mode_ magazine."

Betty sighed. "I should have known that a communications company would have a hundred ways to get the message out. But, still, by dinner time it wasn't just all over Meade, it was going out to all New York on TV. Amazing!"

"Welcome to life in a goldfish bowl. It's the downside of being a Meade, or as you're learning, of dating a Meade. I can offer a sweet little escape, though—I'm thinking of a get-away to an upstate bed & breakfast place I know over the holiday, very discreet, just the two of us alone. We could leave late Wednesday afternoon and come back when we want. No _Mode_, no gossip, no Renée. Danny can stay with my mother and Alex and watch football all day on Thanksgiving."

"Actually, Danny wants to spend time with Annette Bretonne Thursday, trying out some new baseball set-up you've ponied up for. I told him to get your permission, but I think you should allow it. Annette's been a good influence on him."

"Missing all that football, when he can play with his new toy any time? Are you sure this isn't more about the girl than the baseball? Remember, he's grounded."

"I'm sure. He's not attracted to her that way, not at all. Believe me, I've seen them together and I'm a great judge of those things."

"Then I vote okay. And that would clear the way for you and I going off together. What do you say?"

"I say yes. My family will miss me, but for once, I'm getting my priorities straight. I will have to be back at work on Friday, though. A magazine doesn't launch itself."

Daniel's hand casually swept a stray lock of hair from his love's face. "So, you think you're ready for the goldfish bowl?"

"I'm more than ready," Betty answered. She raised both hands to frame his handsome face. "I'm so sorry I made you skulk around this morning. I'm tired of being timid with my love life. Asking you to come over Saturday night was a giant step for me, but today I saw myself in full retreat, denying what we have. So I'm calling a halt right now to this backsliding. What was I afraid of? I'm not ashamed of you. I'm proud to be with you, Daniel, and I want the world to know it. Suzuki St. Pierre, bring it on!"


End file.
